


Hello, Hopeful

by BoredomIsDeadly



Series: Dear Despair [3]
Category: Fire Emblem Heroes
Genre: Gen, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, m!chrobin, mentions of gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-31 18:10:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13980624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoredomIsDeadly/pseuds/BoredomIsDeadly
Summary: The fact of the matter is that Grima was a walking representation of doom. Robin isn't the only one who struggles to accept his presence in such close proximity.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this work is a continuation of the other 2 stories in the same series.

There is a new unspoken rule amongst the summoned heroes of Askr’s army. A gossip, if one will.

Never approach the moody looking Robin for he is the Fell Dragon Grima. A good portion of them had already gone through tribulations back in their own world, and know the warning rings true. Those who have seen the dragon had seen the death and destruction he could bring first-hand, and so the small fear that had budded eventually grew uncontrollable.

But even for such a warning, the sight of the possessed tactician was rare.

Robin dreaded seeing that face. There had been incidents in the past where the Summoner would summon another version of him from other similar worlds, but the expression on ‘Grima’ terrified him. This should have been an ordeal that was over and done with, put into words on paper on the history books. The entity in that body isn’t him, not even across the infinite stretch of universes that existed. A sound, an alien voice, derailed all of his thoughts, ravaged his rationale. It would send waves of fear striking at his core, and he wouldn’t be able to keep himself together in that presence.

Their first encounter almost ended in blood if not for intervention. Grima had antagonized. Like caustic poison, every interaction with him burned. It’s far worse now that they were in close proximity and not behind an entire army of Risen and Grimaleals.

Everything out of Grima’s lips was promises of death and a bloodbath.

Robin never thought fear could feel worse.

Robin found it easier to walk around the castle with Chrom or Lucina by his side these days.  It didn’t matter what occasion it had been. Rarely when the two weren’t available, he’d stick to one of the other Falchion users. There is list within his mind, Robin grew jumpy when he finds himself alone, but he drew some minor strength in knowing numbers are on his side in Askr.

If Ylisse’s genius tactician could plan for miraculous turnabouts in war, surely he could plan to keep himself safe.

* * *

It has been a few weeks since Grima’s arrival, and nothing has settled down still.

Kiran had been unwilling to send Grima back, and Grima showed no interest in leaving the Order of Heroes either. Keeping your allies close and enemies closer is one of those golden rules in tactic, but Robin found it difficult to accept this entire circumstance in practice.

Lucina had argued. Chrom had persuaded. Robin had negotiated. None of their efforts went through. Regardless of what they had felt about Grima, their Askiran hosts had decided to keep Grima around, with Kiran being the center mastermind of this whole mess.

It took a few nights for Robin’s rationale and feelings to come to a balance. And even then, he was conflicted.

Robin found it difficult to accept their current circumstances. Sure, he had been summoned and was given the freedom to return whenever he wished, but after having spent so long with Kiran, the attachment he had formed encouraged him to stay. Kiran was an eccentric, silent individual who felt so familiar, as if they had always been beside him for a long time, that his gut instinct told him to stay, rationale be damned.

And because he had made the decision to stay, so did Chrom and Lucina both. A good excuse had even be made, that they would be the champions to slay the Fell Dragon if he got out of hand.

Kiran had never looked so sad when he brought up the suggestion in jest.

Robin just wishes to help Kiran, and now he realizes he might have dragged two of the most important people in his life into another possible crisis.

Then, on one late evening, he had been walking through the corridors with Lucina behind him as Grima crossed their paths. Grima sneered, his expression intensifying the closer Robin and Lucina approached.

“Eyesores...”

Those red eyes caused Robin’s blood to chill, and suddenly he was thrown worlds away from his mind, detached from his body. And Lucina had taken that word as an aggression and lunged, yelling.

Her usual dignified expression contorted with rage. “You should NOT be here!!”

Her Falchion dove, but Grima moved just barely for it to strike the wall.

“Hmph. Do you want to force the Summoner’s hand…?”

The clang of the Falchion rang down the hallway, drawing the attention of the other heroes. Within seconds they were surrounded by allies, who pieced together a rough picture in no time flat. But none could stop Grima as he quietly walked off without a care in the world.

Meanwhile panic consumed Robin’s mind, only snapping out of it when Lucina grabbed his arm and hurriedly dragged him to the strategy room. Chrom followed at some point without question during the commotion, his eyes narrowing at the sight.

“It’ll be alright, Robin.” That strong palm of the exalt on Robin’s back blew away any doubt lingering in his head. And his mind could once again slowly return from its scattered state, piece by piece.

Opening the door, the three of them found Alfonse and Kiran reorganizing documents in the room. Kiran must have spoke, because Alfonse had laughed beyond their distance. But that moment, if it truly existed as a blip in time, is gone. The both if them had sensed urgency when the 3 entered, and dropped their activities to promptly give the guests their fullest attention.

“The Fell Dragon Grima will kill us all.” Lucina begins, her voice laced with despair. “Do not repeat the future passed in my world, please. You are putting yours at risk. Please. It’s only a matter of time when he attacks, and you must send him back.”

“Back? No. I am sorry. But he must stay for now.” Alfonse said, his lips thin. “Has something happened?”

“Lucina and I passed by Grima. He looked as if he was about to-”

A pair of red eyes flashed, and suddenly Robin is drowned by images of a bleeding Chrom flashed through his mind, like a sudden tidal wave. He hears the echoes of a haunting laughter, mocking him. He chokes in his mind, and Robin physically caves.

“Robin!” It was Chrom’s voice. Robin’s knees have gone weak, but Chrom’s strong arms catches him for he meets the floor.  “You alright?”

“I’ll be fine, I- just-”

“I had tried to strike him down with the Falchion!”

Alarmed, the exalt looked towards his daughter. Robin could feel the arms around him tense up. “Lucina, come here.”

Lucina, against herself, takes in a breath and moves closer towards her father.

“Deep breaths, both of you.” Cooed Chrom. “We can talk this out. Right?”

Chrom had raised his head upwards to Alfonse and Kiran. Even Chrom would rather the source of their distress be sent back. Robin knew. And Robin knew even more how Chrom struggled to be their anchor at each moment.

But Kiran had a look about them. The way they stood with an uneven footing, their arms raised ever so slightly, it screamed distress to Robin. He couldn’t understand why that was the case.

“Come, Robin. On your feet. Up.” Chrom said, and hoisted Robin back to a dignified stance. And he could stand, only because Chrom is beside him.

“T-Thank you, Chrom.” Robin gives a desperate squeeze to Chrom’s arm before he lets him go, a silent mutual reassurance of sorts.

Alfonse’s grimace was apparent for all to see. He contemplates. Kiran stood to his right, their mind clearly in disarray with the fist that balled beneath their chin. The agonizing silence passes, with two mind running on parallel tracks. Before the Askiran Prince finally gathered the courage to speak, the Summoner suddenly puts a step forward, silencing the flow of the conversation.

“Kiran…?”

They signal to Alfonse to stand aside, and the unhappy Askrian Prince turned his gaze to the ground.

Robin had thought the silent Summoner would finally converse. He has told their world’s story countless time in good faith to the Order of Heroes, after all. Surely, surely they would understand. He faced the white robed figure, mentally preparing himself, praying in his hearts of heart, not knowing to what.

But before any words were spoken, the white figure descended to their knees, grinding their forehead to the ground to beg for patience.

The silent plea reverberated within the stone walls. _Please let him stay for a bit longer._

“Grima has overstayed his welcome.” Lucina speaks simply.

Without agreement, the head does not lift. Kiran stayed with their head planted on the ground, and a minute ticks by, then five. The air is uneasy, heavy even. Lucina grits her teeth, and Chrom merely watches.

“...We have decided we cannot send Grima back, not at this time.” Alfonse repeats again. “That said, we will ensure your safety as with everyone’s with our lives.”

The three from Ylisse knew this was a deadlock. Biting her lips, Lucina starred as she contained her rage.

“How trustworthy are your words?” It was Chrom’s turn to ask, his gaze affixed on Robin. It had that look that reminded Robin of that sunset above Plegia’s sky not so long ago.

Alfonse, with all his princely dignity, replies. “On my Honor, Exalt. Kiran and I both will see that we perish before any of you are harmed.”

Upon hearing this, Chrom and Lucina glanced at each other, then towards Robin.

“Then… I suppose we will have to accept it.” The white robbed tactician twitches ever so slightly at the statement before lifting their heads up. Robin has never seen such a relieved look on Kiran’s face before. “But you’ll have to tell us why.”

Kiran nods reluctantly, but the moment they tried to stand, they fail and fall over. Alfonse immediately grabs the Summoner’s arm strong enough to hoist them up long enough for them to regain balance. There’s a mimic of a vocal apology, and a flurry of uneasy hand gestures. Alfonse takes them all in, their conversation in full view to a blind audience. Alfonse nods, and begins to speak on behalf of the speechless Summoner.

The seal of silence on the motive for keeping Grima is broken.

“Kiran wants to change the future of one of your worlds.”

* * *

 

The Summoner knocks the door in 3 beats between short intervals like they’ve always done. Grima opens the door, and Kiran strolls in, a tray carefully held within the palms of their hand.

The other soul insides grows ever more curious by the day. Rightfully so.

Grima can tell things inside of him are changing.

As they pass, Grima’s nose picks up the scent of a much stronger tea than usual from Kiran’s cup, and notices the way the mortal moves. It’s unenergetic, lacking the usual bounce and cheer. Grima found it odd, even, that the Summoner has failed to even wave at him in greeting.

His gaze lingers on the Summoner, observing.

It’s strange how good of a mood he is in right now. The Summoner had just sent Grima alone against a group of enemies, declaring on a note he could devour their souls or whatever pleased him, so long as the death was relatively quick. Their screams and the snapping of flesh and the crushing of bones was delightful to his ears, and it got rid of the bloodlust that had been building up.

The Summoner had the uncanny ability to pick up on cues, and has been nothing but accommodating.

They would be a fine servant, but there is no fun in turning this one into a mere puppet.

They both settle down into their mimicry of tea time, and eat away quietly. Or at least, Grima did. The snacks still tastes as satisfyingly warm and savoury as ever, but only one of them were consuming the edibles. The Summoner only sips their tea, their favourite cake laid before them completely untouched.

“You are troubled.” Grima says.

The Summoner’s shoulders tense, before dropping. They nod sheepishly. They look at Grima for a short while before deciding to reach into their robe to fetch a small notebook, and then a quill and ink that sat on the study desk.

 _“I think you know there are those who don’t find your presence here pleasant. But nevermind them. Why do you still stay?”_ The mortal asks, a finger worrying the ear of the notebook.

“...It’s quieter here. Pleasant.” The Fell Dragon says, not minding the question. Watching the Summoner tilt their head quizzically was amusing to watch, but Grima elaborates. “There are no prayers, no worms to come to me pleading for frivolous wishes here. No one to pester me. Except for you, suicidal one.”

Blinking, the Summoner looks upwards, before awkwardly breaking into a relieved smile.

Grima feels something tickling at his core. But it’s insignificant.

* * *

 

A few more weeks pass. Robin, Chrom and Lucina had tried to relax, or rather, they forced themselves to. And sitting in the courtyard, Robin has not felt this relaxed for a long time.

Little partings in the leaves above him offered a gentle view of a clear blue sky, and the flow of water from the fountain eased his heartbeat. It’s a small happiness, but Robin seizes it anyway.

Sitting beside the Ylisstol tactician is Chrom and Lucina, peacefully passing the time together. Lucina suggested trying to make some wreaths out of the blue, and Chrom had been failing spectacularly. Rather than the crumbling mess of plant material, the view of the flowers in bloom captures his attention.

The butterflies of Askr had wing patterns he’d never seen back in Ylisse, he notes. The flowers here are foreign as well. He never had the passion for botany, so perhaps Robin is seeing plants that are already available back home. Chrom had been right, his nose is stuck too far into books. And oh, how the layout of this courtyard was roughly large enough to hold perhaps the whole army, just barely…

“You know, Father, I was thinking…” Lucina blurts out, looking towards their tactician. “N-no, perhaps I shouldn’t speak of this.”

Lucina hurriedly drives her attention back to the wreath she had been working on. They crumble apart, and her progress resets again.

“Lucina?” Chrom asks, stopping his own fiddling. “What’s the matter?”

Robin blinks, aware that this is to do with him. “...Go ahead and say it.”

The exalt gives a reassuring pat on Lunca’s arm, nod and smile all, and that was all it took.

“We...We haven’t seen Grima these days, have we?” She started. “I used to see him standing at a corner during my patrols. Neither you have been mentioning him. Has he perhaps been sent back?”

“That would be great news, but they would always announce such an event. I don’t think so, Lucina.” Robin says.

“Always? But what if, Robin? What if Kiran had quietly sent him back? Given the circumstances, would it not be appropriate for a quiet send off?” She asks. The desperation rings clear.

“If there was one, we would know. There would be a beam of light into the sky, and people would gossip. You know how Princess Sharena can be when it comes to us, she’d let every single cat out of the bag in a heartbeat.”

Chrom nods, dusting off the broken pieces of stalks all over the grass. “I have to agree. But don’t worry. There more than just us 3 here, and plenty more Falchions to go around. Grima doesn’t stand a chance. We beat him once, we can do it again.”

After paying a certain cost, that is. Robin would still pay the toll however times it was necessary.

“You speak as though you know that to be a fact...” Robin sighs. ”But leave it to you for morale boosts.”

Chrom laughs at the flattery. “Corrin often laments meeting another Falchion user on the battlefield. She mentioned it would be the same for this Grima. So it sounded right to me.” Chrom stands up for a stretch, dusting any plant material off his clothes. ”Besides, we should honor Kiran’s determination and let them do their work while we sit here… destroying some flowers.”

Following him, Lucina gets up as well. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. What you suggest is for me to take it easy, correct?”

“Yes!” Chrom chirps. ”Did it work?”

“Of course, Father!” Lucina smiles warmly, and Robin feels as if he’s been mistakenly placed in the middle of a parent-child bonding session. He’s just glad that he isn’t sandwiched between the two, at least.

Robin gets up as well, giving his beloved coat a good shake before standing at the ready. “So I suppose now is a good time as any for lunch?”  
  
“Yes!” Chrom declared. “Though it is the same timing we have it as always.”

Without objection, the 3 of them headed off to the dining hall. They pass through the giant stone hallways, past a few dozens of other Heroes. It appears to be far too early for lunch, but the hour of the day has never stopped the chefs of Askr to stop cooking or any volunteers to help themselves. Everyone here had so many different quirks, it was quite like managing the shepherds back home.

No, perhaps many times the size of that. Chrom loves the idea of having such an army. Lucina is fascinated every moment. Robin dreads the planning and the cost of such upkeep. He is glad, in that sense, that he doesn’t have to worry about such a problem for once.

But Robin has been thinking a lot lately. About how Askr functioned, and what this place is to him and many others. Some heroes viewed Askr as a vacation of sorts. Some view it as an excuse to fight war. Then there were those who wanted to stay simply because it granted the possibility of meeting someone otherwise out of reach in their home world.

To those, they claim Askr to be a heaven of second chances. Matters here simply were not the same back home.

“...Ah, perhaps that’s why…?” Robin mumbles.

“Hm? What?”

“Oh no, Chrom. it was nothing.”

Chrom stops to ruffle Robin’s white hair with a grin.

“Hey!” In reflex, his elbow jabs at Chrom’s sides playfully.

Chrom’s ruffling intensified, and Robin weakly slaps the hand for it to stop. “I see you’re overthinking your silly head again.”

“Why, am I an open book to you?”

Laughter rings throughout the hallway, their owners wholly unaware.

Lucina, used to this, simply continues walking. In fact, she speeds up. No, rather, she speeds off.

“L-Lucina?” Chrom stutters. “Hey, slow down!”

“I feel like I’ve been wrongly thrown into a lovebirds’ bonding session!” She exclaims, embarrassed.

Robin flinches. Chrom releases his hand and runs ahead, with the shorter male lagging behind. His heart suddenly races. Blood rushed to his cheeks, and embarrassment forced his palms to cover his face.

Did Lucina just say that…? Robin has no idea how to cover for him and Chrom both or explain.

And the implications? It had crossed his mind soon after Chrom had found him in the grass, sure, but he would never pursue it. It was inappropriate, tactician and exalt, man and man, and he swore he would never bring up the matter, especially with Lucina now in the picture. But if she had said that, does that mean she acknowledged that, in some way-

No. He shook his head, slapping his palms to his cheeks. He has to calm down, he must. It’s overthinking, that’s what this is. He peeks to the side, wondering what Chrom might think, but Chrom is walking too far ahead that Robin can’t see his face. The silence might be all he needs though.

 _Inappropriate_ , he tells himself. _He is a married man now, you homewrecker, you disgraceful-_

But then he finally catches up after speeding up briefly. He calls for Chrom, slowing him down. Robin catches the way Chrom avoided his eye contact with flushed cheeks and a nervous smile, and he isn’t so sure if the subject had to be broached at some point.

Things had changed. Too much had changed.

“I-I’m sure Lucina doesn’t mean anything by that, Robin.” Chrom says, his voice wavering.

“Y-yeah, Chrom.” Robin replies.

The impromptu race eventually ended in front of Alfonse, who stood guard outside the mess hall. He wouldn’t look out of place if not for his unique weapon of choice, an Armorsmasher+, resting below his palm. When they make eye contact however, Alfonse’s composure melts. His face spells out the word perplexed in no uncertain capital letters.

Alfonse coughs into his hand. “You should not head inside at this time, esteemed Heroes.” He says, bringing his princely upbringing to the forefront. It’s meant to be authoritarian, but it fails.

“Why?  Is the kitchen not in order?” Chrom asks.

“No. But-” The Prince looks around, visibly troubled. He grimaces, as he says, “Please don’t yell, but Grima is in there with Kiran.”

“What?!” Yelled out the 3 of them. Robin felt a surge of panic rise.

There was almost a verbal demand for Alfonse to step away from the door, but he instead deflates and opens it for them. Stress is visibly showing on Alfonse’s expression, who stands at a side and sighs.

“I shan’t stop you.” Alfonse says.

The door makes an unfortunate creak as it swings open, and indeed, sitting on two of the wooden seats are Kiran and Grima. Kiran has a book open as they eat. It’s bad manners, but they’re so used to it in their homeworld the habit was hard to rid. Then there was Grima, who had nothing but a cup of tea beside him, almost empty.

Chrom and Lucina immediately have their hands resting on their weapons and they slowly approach the table. Lucina is trembling by his side and Chrom assumes the vanguard. The two move as a unit like instinct, and Robin follows with his tome in hand behind.

But the oddness of the situation overpowered their caution. No one truly took up arms, and their battle stance defused gradually. Not a single one of the occupants in the mess hall reacted to their entrance, and if Grima knew, he did not show even a hint of hostility.

Closer and closer they approached, and yet no dynamic within this room had changed. Confusion begins to set in, the three of them glancing at each other.

“What... is happening here?” Chrom spoke at last.

It was then that Grima threw them a simple glance in acknowledgement. It lacked the usual sneer or the amonisity but its intimidating gaze of those red glowing eyes still lingered. Grima returns his attention towards the table in silence, wholly disinterested at the preys he would often taunt in the past.

If anything, Robin only sensed irritation from Grima.  

Chrom begun scratching his head, lost, and Lucina stuck close to her father like a fierce guard still.

Alfonse approached from the back, carrying an explanation. “It’s alright. Kiran asked Grima out for lunch. Probably.”

“You don’t sound sure, Prince Alfonse.” Chrom says.

Alfonse breaths in a lungful of air. “I shall speak more later.”

A good long while of silence passed. Kiran didn’t touch their food, oblivious to their surrounding as they flipped another page. It’s another agonizing, uncomfortable moment before Grima delivered a swift kick to Kiran’s feet under the table. Startled, their book slips out of their hand, the other too preoccupied with a spoon. Kiran fumbles with all their reflexes with the might of one hand only to see the heavy book fall to the floor with a thud, perfectly closed.

They cover their face in defeat. It looked to Robin that Kiran might have forgotten to bring their bookmark.

“Um…” Robin mumbles, unsure. The noise drew Grima’s attention, and Robin found himself briefly lost in red eyes on a face that was exactly his. Skin crawling, Robin’s heart chilled again. Then those eyes lingered on Chrom for some indiscernible reason.

“Y-yes?” Chrom says, and Robin could see the way the muscles on his arm tense.

All that tension evaporated the moment Grima tore his gaze away as if to give Chrom some sense of mind.

“I’m leaving.” Grima announces, voice low.

Kiran waves their hand harshly, as if to shoo Grima away. They huff loudly. Still on the seat, they lean over, reaching to pick the book up and ultimately placing it on the table.

Lucina takes a step, but-

“Don’t follow me.” Grima snarls, and heads out the door.

Robin swears he saw tears threatening to fall from Grima’s eyes, but it could have been just an illusion. Grima is just… Grima, isn’t he?

The mood of the room lifts almost immediately with the Fell Dragon’s absence. Everyone, sans Kiran, breathes a sigh of relief.

Kiran, finally noticing the three Heroes, greets them with a wave. Nonchalantly. As if nothing had ever happened earlier.

“Er, I think an explanation is in order?” Robin blurts out. “What was that?”

The Summoner gives Robin an incredulous look, presenting Grima’s teacup prominently as if to retort, _‘lunch, what else?’_

“Kiran roused me from my chambers and requested I follow with this weapon,” Alfonse gestures to the unwieldy sword in his hand. It’s an anomaly against his figure. “-and to only let you three in. I have no idea whose idea it was-”

Kiran motions to themself.

“-Kiran’s. Yours. Of course. But as you can see, Grima poses no threat right now.”

Kiran nods vigorously, giving a thumbs-up to vouch for credibility.

“Please, Kiran. I fear one of these days you’ll end up seriously hurting yourself. That’s not the first time you’ve talked to Grima alone, right?”

Kiran shrugs and smiles in an apologetic way to Alfonse, who seem to melt and sighs back instead. Strangely. Kiran tears away their gaze, and Robin gets the odd feeling that it was out of shame. In a way, Robin sees why. Chrom would worry the same over him as well countless times in the past.

“Alone?! Summoner, are you insane?” Lucina yells. “I know what you’re trying to do, but surely you see the risk?”

Feeling the tension rapidly escalating, Kiran opts to bring out their notebook -they’re carrying one these days- and writes instead. This action surprised Alfonse as well, if his expression was any indicator.

_“Grima just wants to be left alone, Lucina. I am aware of the risk. I asked him to come so I can show you he’s alright. I’m truly sorry I’ve upset you, which in large part, was due to my failure to communicate.”_

Alfonse moves to put a reassuring hand on Kiran’s shoulder, and they seem to appreciate the gesture.

Robin is surprised by the plan. Lucina backs down a little, at a lost for words.

“But he could have easily hurt you.” Chrom says. “When that happens, not even my sword may reach..”

 _“But he didn’t. He didn’t hurt you guys either.”_ Reasons the Summoner submissively. Their fingers was worrying the ear of the notebook, and Robin wonders if it was out of nervousness or guilt.

Chrom had noted once that Robin did something similar when he was put in a spot, that he would fidget with his notebook in the same fashion. The two of them really were alike in certain ways.

“That’s.. Certainly true. He didn’t.” Robin says. “Not even when Lucina struck first, now that I recall.”

“Oh… You’re right.” Lucina says. “This is difficult to admit but… Did he react because I displayed hostility?”

Robin hadn’t considered that factor before.

“I would not fault you, given your history.” Alfonse states calmly.

Kiran smiles in an assuring manner, trying to ease Lucina’s worry. _“I don’t know if he truly loathes you three, but I think he truly likes it here in Askr. He said it was pleasant. Please allow him to stay here.”_

“I believe is decision concerns me the least.” Chrom says. “I forfeit my vote. You two can have your say.”

“Oh? Well I… I have no objections in… Him staying. Grima still scares me, but I have far more faith in our abilities and Kiran’s decision.” Robin states.

Lucina, one hand on her hip, sighs. “Make no mistake. I detest Grima with every fibre of my being for what he did to my future, but… Seeing the way you interact with Grima is terrifying… And hopeful. I would like to believe in that hope.”

Hope.

There is never a more appropriate word to describe this feeling that’s welling up with Robin.

Kiran beams from their seat. They open their mouth, speaking two soundless words.

_“Thank you.”_

* * *

 

It is quieter lately, Robin thinks.

It’s the same old dark, murky abyss, but it feels so much less turbulent. No prayers. No death wishes. No rituals.

On occasion would the fog clear up, and he would be watching through Grima’s eyes, wondering who that new white robed figure is. They would have tea together, and Robin thinks them insane for sticking around despite Grima throwing insults and death threats at every turn.

Yet Grima tolerates it.

Then he sees himself. He knows that is just another self called forth from one of the many other universe, but despite the immense loathing, Grima doesn’t attack.

He can’t tell what is real or not anymore.

He becomes aware again when he suddenly sees Chrom, alive and well. Chrom looked into what must seem like the abyss, past what must be Grima, and right into him.

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know.

Inside of the Fell Dragon, Robin cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> phew


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> didn't expect THAT DIDJA

Chrom has known Robin for as long as “Robin” had been Robin.

And for as long as Chrom had been aware, Robin had done everything within his power for him. Devoted, loyal, unwavering, unquestioning. A constant presence, a calm assurance. The tactician is his own personal god of victory. Robin could be anything else he truly wanted, and yet the sole individual he had chosen was Chrom. For that, Chrom could hold the entirety of the world in the palm of his hands and still not find the means to thank Robin, to show a satisfactory level of gratitude that could express what he felt for the tactician.

He would gladly leave Robin’s names in history books. Make sure his other half’s legacy lives on for an eternity. Have festivals, tales and songs be made in his honor. And have no one forget who Robin truly was.

Chrom swore, by Naga’s name, after that despair he had felt watching Robin fade, that people would remember him. He swore, from a part of him that had given up on ever seeing that smile again, for he had thought Robin had been gone for good.

Chrom never knew grief could feel worse.

And maybe, because at some point, his feelings no longer ended at gratitude. It budded, grew, and blossomed throughout the years, almost choking him the more they marched towards Grima’s demise. Now it rooted much too deeply that Chrom feared there would be no adequate way to express himself.

There is a word for this feeling that Chrom must omit. It must be left out of history. The monarchy; his bloodline, must never be sullied by his personal feelings. Because he had made his decision to marry his wife, and he must live with it. Proposal had made him the happiest man, as with Lucina’s birth. But he soon found out that happiness was but a short-lived joy; a result of mounting pressure and expectations. 

What had once been a positive relationship became sour. Smiles faded into formality and appearances, for all of Ylisse to view and the world to accept.

Chrom cannot turn his back on pressure and expectations. 

So Chrom closes his eyes and plugs his ears. He locks this feeling up with a key and forces it under a slab of concrete. It must be buried. The world will not care about how he felt. Robin would never see him as anything more than a king he must serve, and they would be merely two halves of the same whole. 

Their bond is unbreakable, but the feelings that Chrom felt for the man shall never be mutual.

He must not pursue the feelings, but it comes bursting out of the ground when he finds Robin in the grass again, brandless.

* * *

“Y-yes?”

“I’m leaving. Don’t follow me.”

Chrom does not.

He stood where he had been, feet rooted, while his heart wrenched and threatened to burst.

Chrom had merely peeked into those red eyes of Grima’s. The Fell Dragon is now wearing Robin’s face not unlike a twisted mask, and yet when he had looked into the swirling vortexes of hatred, he suddenly found grief where there should have been none.

How could it be? Grima did not feel grief. Grima is all things unholy, death, loathing and wretchery given spirit, all forced into the shell of Robin. 

Yet, those had been tears. From where he stood, he could see the droplets emerge. Even if it was for a brief moment, it had indeed existed. There is a cause for it. There must be.

A thought begun to form, small, but tangible. The start of an unfathomable hypothesis.

_ What if Grima is Robin? _

“Chrom, you are stressing Lucina out.” 

“Oh.” Was all Chrom could say to Robin. It would be embarrassing to say that he had not been paying attention to much of anything after encountering Grima in the mess hall. He glances around, but Lucina is nowhere to be found on the ledge above the main floor, above where Feh snoozes. “Where is she?”

“Off mingling with the other heroes, like she told you.” Robin points towards the floor below, and true enough, there she was speaking to the hero-king Marth. “You look quite out of it. Are you feeling alright?”

“I make for a poor father.” Chrom pinches his forehead while attempting to laugh it off.” If I must be honest, no.” 

Robin smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Thought so. It’s Grima, isn’t it?”

“You know me well.”

“Despite how I may agree to Kiran’s request, I’d rather not cross paths with Grima. Not alone.”

“Well, that explains why you’ve been rather glued to Lucina and I lately.” Chrom chuckles. “Kept wondering why you weren’t talking with the others, or off alone to bury your nose in the library.”

Robin seemed to shrink, his head looking downwards, surely to hide his embarrassment. “I hope it is not a bother.”   


Chrom can’t help but smile. “If it puts you at ease even a little? Never.” 

The other’s shoulders rises ever so slightly in response. Chrom really can’t help but feel a slight surge of pride, knowing that Robin felt safer with him around. Then again, the feeling was mutual. With or without Grima presence, Chrom had always felt all was right in the world so long as he saw Robin’s face. Nothing could stand in their way, even if Chrom was to never made his feelings for the other vocal.

The current state of affairs are fine as they are. 

“Haha. Dependable as always.” Robin begins to lean on the railings, his arm supporting his upper body as he pauses. “I…”

Chrom follows, one arm leaning on the railing, his fullest attention towards his tactician. Brows knot as the wave of stress evidently coiled in a way that was worrying to him.

“I see the good in what Kiran does. Yet I am infinitely more disturbed by the sight of myself walking around under the influence of evil.” Robin takes of his right leather glove, revealing a brandless hand. Bringing up and inspecting it as if it was the oddest object in the world, he continues. “I know the possibility of that happening is all but eliminated now. But each time I meet those eyes I am reminded that is what I might end up as. Bloodthirsty. Murderous. Mad. A harbinger of doom.”

Panic came crashing down from haphazard scaffolding meant to contain it. Robin almost chokes on his own voice.

“He cannot exist without spilling your blood, without slaughtering our friends. Would I truly relish in the death and destruction I commit, if I had accepted godhood? Did I chose that path, in another life? Would that really be me?”

“Nay, Robin. That is Grima. He is not you.” Chrom concludes, reaffirming the statement, though perhaps more to himself. “You are charming, bright, and the warmest soul I know, next to my late sister. Do not see yourself for anything less.”

Chrom does not know if his encouragement reach, but the hand that’s spread in front of him begins to tremble, its owner beginning to see ghosts of a future that will never be. He is crumbling. Robin is strong, but Chrom never doubted once the divine tactician wasn’t human. Out of reflex, reaches over and grasps the hand with his left immediately, as firmly and tightly he could to get through.

“Robin, I want you to know I’ll always be by your side. Should you feel it’s too much, we can leave at a moment’s notice. You need just say the word.”

Once, during a night when nightmares had plagued Robin’s mind for weeks, Chrom had seen Robin fully crumble for the first time. Robin wasn’t one to seek assistance directly, and so Chrom watched the otherwise all-knowing tactician slowly turning half-mad from insomnia and a problem which stressed him out to the limit. 

So what if Robin might be the traitor to take Chrom’s life? Their bond was true; they had a bond far stronger than some stupid, nonsensical fate written by some damn villian out there, and they smashed that script practically into fine dust. No one else in the shephards, not even his wife, would know Chrom had spent that night of the campaign falling asleep with Robin, if only to let him know Chrom will live.

Chrom had waited patiently until Robin remembers to breathe properly again this time, just like what he had done then. What else in his power could he truly do for him?

Eventually, the hand under his jerks, and suddenly it’s snatched back, cradled in the palms of the other gloved hand. It’s not until Chrom notices the way Robin is shrinking again, how his ears go red, and how the ground is suddenly so interesting to his tactician that the gravity of what he’d done set in.

Chrom withdraws his hand so quickly it smacked audibly in his right palm. “O-oh, sorry!”

Chrom quickly shuffles a few step backwards to put some distance between them. His heart was suddenly thumping too loud for his own good.

But Robin glows with appreciation.

He almost missed the red that has spread on Robin’s cheeks, wide and tinted all the way to the ears. But Robin smiles shyly, pushing past his reservations, relief and admiration all rolled into one. The sunlight from outside hits the white locks of hair, and suddenly Chrom has a very difficult time keeping himself together from the fuzziness and the conflicting emotions that has begun to spread from within himself. 

“Thank you, Chrom.”

He swears under his breath. 

It cannot possibly be mutual.

* * *

 

When Kiran had first spoke of the proposal to recruit Grima, Alfonse thought the Summoner had been pulling his leg. Days passed, and he found out that no, Kiran was serious. Even Sharena seemed hesitant. He only counted his blessings that Grima hasn’t gone on a rampage yet.

In all honesty, Alfonse never believed the plan could work. He sets to plan for a safety net along with the Summoner; a forced return if either the heroes’ lives or Askr were ever to be in danger.

But at noon, the culmination of Kiran’s efforts and determination had been displayed. 

And his blessings suddenly became uncountable.

Alfonse pauses his work, and looks over his shoulder where Kiran is sitting. “Do you think they will fully accept Grima around now?”

Kiran listens while reading through another report that’s stacked on the desk. How many times has Kiran flipped through that report already? The war has been rather quiet of late, but Kiran was never lax in their work. It was meticulous to be sure, but it seemed forced, even to Alfonse.

After pondering Alfonse’s question in that mind of theirs, they shrug with a resigned smile. 

“Yes, I suppose it will be rough, won’t it? Shall we take a break?”

Kiran stands up to grab a chair, offering for Alfonse to sit with an inviting grin. Alfonse does with thanks, and Kiran sets about to prepare tea with the small stove in the corner of the strategy room. Alfonse learnt early on that Kiran prefered to do than to sit still, and would mope if they had simple tasks be done for them. Pouring tea was one such task, and it seemed to make them especially happy when they were doing something for him.

But it’s the usual, really. It has always peaceful and quiet being around Kiran. Then again, the Summoner was never eager to flex their vocal chords.

It hadn’t been so severe when they had first arrived, however. Change had been gradual, but one day they had just clammed up. And eventually Kiran only talked to him, Sharena, and Anna. No one else had heard Kiran’s voice.

A thought pops into his mind. Does Kiran even speak to Grima while gaining his friendship? But no, it was difficult to believe. Alfonse had been trying for the past year. And the words written in that notebook proved otherwise.

Speaking of which...

“I’m surprised you’re carrying a notebook now to talk now! You should speak to everyone else, Kiran. Even if it’s a word or two.” Alfonse says as Kiran stood by the window waiting for the kettle to whistle.

Kiran looks Alfonse in the eyes, something clawing at the corners of their expression. Fear.

“No...”

Alfonse knows how painful it is to not talk for a whole day. Was the pain the same for Kiran who could go on for days without speaking, or was it a subjective experience? His sister would call him an absolute worrywart, and she would be completely right.

“Alright, but cut down on the tea? Please get some sleep earlier tonight.”

Kiran nodded reluctantly.

Perhaps this was progress.

* * *

 

Night falls in Askr. Chrom finds himself lying on his own bed. This time, the insomnia bug has found him to latch on.

Damn.

He isn’t sure what to think. Chrom eyes closed, and images of the that encounter in the mess hall splashed vividly in the darkness. He turns and tosses in vain to get comfortable to finally sleep on his bed, but it does not come. It’s too far late into the night to be bothering Robin, or even Lucina. He’s positive the both of them are sound asleep, anyhow.

Not that Robin would mind, but Chrom most definitely would fret disturbing the rest of his tactician. Matters are complicated, and it was not proper.

Chrom sighs. The Fell Dragon’s presence should have just been a mere thorn in his side, a constant reminder of what could have been. A representation of the future averted. It was the only way he could accept the presence of Grima in Askr. 

Not that he would be telling anyone his view on the issue. It was a delicate matter best kept to himself.

Chrom tosses the warmth of the blanket and walks outwards to the cold night. He is careful to shut the door behind him as quietly as possible. Both Robin and Lucina are right next door, afterall. 

The night air is crisp and delightful. It kissed his skin, and the calming stillness was a nice change of pace. Chrom turns a corner, his legs carrying him aimlessly to no real location, just so he could maybe tire out. One turn, two corridors, and a few staircase later, Chrom slowed down to a halt. Finding himself drawn towards the sight of the foreign landscape of a kingdom worlds away, he approaches, entranced. Touching the railings, all he could do was look.

His breath was stolen away. How could a simple change in time transform the land into such a beautiful scenery?

“Wow. What a view.”

“Hmph.” A voice says, and Chrom spins around. It’s hardly bright, but with the glow of the moonlight, Chrom makes out a person. The eyes on the sleeves could just barely be made out, and Chrom tries not to shiver. Robin did not ever addressed Chrom in such a harsh tone.

“Wretched Son of Naga,” The Fell Dragon greets with venom. It could have been the glow of the red eyes, the way the unnatural not-Robin twist of the lips, or the awareness of the other’s identity, but Chrom’s instincts quickly goes ballistic.

“Grima.” Chrom leaps back, hand going to where his Falchion is. His hand brushes only air when he attempts to grip it.

_ Gods blast it. _

This was not how he expected his walk to go. Chrom quickly assesses the situation, eyes darting to the arc that separates the balcony from the interior of the castle. He could leave, flee from this encounter and away from danger. But a part of him wanted to stay as well, despite knowing the allure of curiosity is a deadly concoction with the creature that stands before him. 

Chrom attempts his best to not look helpless without the aid of his weapon. So he stares into those red gaze, steeling himself. It’s probably one of the most foolish decision he will make in his life, but he’s made a few. 

Chrom hopes there is merit to put faith in the Summoner. Kiran may be speechless, but they had an exceptional eye when it comes to discerning characters.

Grima returns the favour of the eye contact, lasting for all but a stressful second before he breaks, and returns to looking at the scenery.

Chrom felt as though someone had suddenly cut loose a taut cord. 

“You are a disturbance. Leave.”

Chrom narrows his eyes. The events from earlier was suddenly all he could think of. He pauses, hesitant if he should speak. But if he left now, would there be another opportunity like this, with the questions still burning in his mind?

He knows the answer, and discards all caution into the wind. Prod. He has to prod. “Robin?”

The figure twitches, and there is a sharp click of the tongue. “I am the Fell Dragon Grima. Now begone, before I change my mind and decide to tear the still beating heart out of your chest.”

Chrom has never spoken to Grima directly like this before, and everything laid out before him was the wide unknown. He swallows. 

“Yet you refuse to look at me,” the words come out, and that revived the hypothesis at the back of his head. “Why, if you are not Robin?”

“What?” The head inclines, and the unearthly laugh that bubbles from the lips of Grima follows with a tint of madness. “Ah, I see. So this is what this is all about.”

It’s deceptive - the way the wind tosses white locks on Grima’s head, and how the moonlight plays on those features, that Chrom had to remind himself this was not Robin he is speaking to. Robin’s eyes did not glow, and his face was not cold.

The red stares back.

“We are not the same existence, dear  _ Chrom _ .” Grima says, rolling the last word off. Grima laughs again, amused at this twisted game that has figuratively landed in hands, with Chrom being a piece.

Despite how much it resembled Robin when he spoke Chrom’s name, hearing that from the Fell Dragon’s lips was an impossible  _ relief _ . He could bring the news to Robin, and possible nail shut one of the many questions still unanswered. 

But another question rises.

The laughter quickly dies, and all Chrom could hear was the whistling of the gentle wind playing with the leaves of trees down below. Grima broke off eye contact again.

“Leave.”

“Then why do you constantly avoid looking at me?”

Grima turns to face him. He snarls, not meeting contact still. The question sets him off, lighting a wick that should never be messed with. “Are you so eager to be devoured by me, Son of Naga? Perhaps you forget who you are in the presence of!”

Chrom’s instincts screamed. The lack of any real physical action was the only sign Grima wasn’t going to start on his threats, but it does not seem that it will last. Chrom had pushed his luck too far tonight.

What in the hell was Kiran thinking, with no experience with a weapon?

What in the hell was  _ he _ thinking, without Falchion?

“Peace, Fell Dragon Grima. I apologize if I had asked an inappropriate question.” Chrom quickly says, one step ready to flee. “It was not my intention to upset you.

“Peace?” Grima repeats, as if he had encountered a very foreign concept all together. “An apology?”

The wind picks up, and tosses leaves up into the air, scattering every which way. It rattles the branches, and rustling turns into a cacophony. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as a chill runs up Chrom’s spine.

“Very well, I shall humour you,  _ Chrom _ of Ylisse _. _ But you will leave,” Grima says. Chrom doesn’t take the sudden change of heart for granted. 

“I promise.” Chrom replies to the demand. It’s just another answer to a question. A closure to a non-issue. For Robin. 

“We may not be the same, but our hearts are inexorably linked.”

Grima does not smile. He does not laugh, either. In that moment, Chrom thought the Fell Dragon looked strangely human.

“I feel what he feels.” 

Chrom thanks Grima, and left. 

The confession burns in his head, the implications weighing like a rock that refused to move. Chrom doesn’t remember falling asleep in the conflicting sense of relief and revelation, but when he does he is glad he dreams.

He dreamt of nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ESCALATOR!!


	3. Chapter 3

Robin and Lucina had to drag Chrom away for their scheduled morning spar.

Lucina had been the first one to notice all the signs hanging off Chrom’s troubled face in the morning, since she was always the first to greet her father. Chrom promised it was nothing serious, but it was apparent there was a weight on his shoulders. Very discreetly, she approached Robin, whose room was right next door, to alert him to the matter.

Robin was worried, but Chrom did not seem willing to divulge what had caused the sudden shift in mood, and he did not wish to annoy him with the questions. Lucina had a subtle turn of the lip and a strong fixation on her father that morning, and Robin felt he had to do something.

So now he stands before Chrom with a wooden sword, one on one, in the training room. He hadn’t held a sword in a while, and it felt strange in his hand. One fight, then two, and he stopped count as he kept catching the mistakes Chrom would commit in his strikes. The worry he felt was eating him away with each swing, movement, and parry.

He, Lucina and Chrom took turns at each other, and Robin had no doubt she too had felt the mistakes that should not have been there. But Robin could swear, as he watched from the sidelines, that Lucina was indeed getting better by the day, and it made him so proud to be Chrom’s ally, to know that his friend's daughter would be splendid.

At the very least, there are gradually more of that light Robin finds so dear within the blue eyes as they exchanged blows, that the bulk of his worries seem somewhat misplaced.

Chrom advanced with a steady stance, and struck his wooden sword in succession upon Robin’s own at a pacing that made retaliation risky. Each strike came down like a great hammer, but Robin easily deflected the brunt of the force by easing the blow with a tilt of the weapon. Not that this was entirely effortless or painless; his arms were starting to tire out.

He quickly broke away, trying to again some of his strength by smoothing the pacing of this back-and-forth.

On the average sparring day alone, Robin would absolutely dread the prospect of being the other’s sparring partner for multiple rounds, but Chrom’s movements had dipped far below acceptable. Knowing that Chrom could do better than this mildly frustrated him.

As the exalt’s sword swung outwards to knock Robin’s weapon out of his hands, Robin seized the opening, bent his right leg towards his sparring partner, plunging into the fighter's bubble to smash the blunt blade into Chrom’s leg.

_Smack!_

Chrom toppled like a house of cards, falling sideways with a wallop.

“Gah!”

Robin would admit might be a tad more frustrated than mild. If this was the battlefield, Robin would have to force Chrom to sit behind the frontlines, and Robin can’t even begin imagining the amount of complaints he’d get from his other half.

Robin sinked, sitting across Chrom’s heaving figure, trying to catch his own breath as well. “Whew! That’s our last one. That swing. It was horrible.”

“Well, you’ve improved. Sweep me off my feet, why don’t you?”

Robin refused to think too deeply about that phrasing. “You and I both know your heart wasn’t in this.”

Chrom pulled a face.

“Here.” Lucina offered water and towels, and both men were all too happy to accept, herself already done drying off the sweat. Uttering their thanks, the both of them went to wipe the sweat off. Robin watched Chrom direct the towel towards the area of his neck with a casual, discreet side eye, before focusing on himself.

After a moment, Chrom spoke. “Is it that obvious?”

“Very, father. And Robin’s not one to usually win so much in succession. No offense, Robin.” said Lucina.

“None taken. I am a tactician first and foremost- not a swordsman.”

“Well, I-” Chrom abruptly stopped, and sighs. “This is embarrassing. I admit, that swing was terribly misjudged, and I will have a bruised leg to show for it.”

A angry looking red has begun to spread over the exalt’s leg. His words were no exageration; a bruise would come soon. Understandably, Chrom’s most steadfast protector, Lucina, begun pouting at Robin. Not that he could have helped it in the heat of the moment.

Robin tried to apologize through a smile. ”I might have overdone that strike. Let me bring you to a healer later.”

Chrom probably can’t feel it now, running his hand through that area. The injury was numbed with the smack that resounded through the room earlier. “That was… painful. Have I perhaps made you angry?”

Robin brought a hand up to his forehead, frowning. “If this was the battlefield, I’d be sending Lucina to drag you far behind the frontlines. Isn’t that right, Lucina?”

“Indeed. It shall be an order I will very forcefully execute even if I’ll have you drag you by the collar, father.” Lucina said.

Robin is pleased he and Lucina had come to some sort of understanding and now stand on the same side when it came to the protection of Chrom, even if it took a long time and the death of one god.

“Not my daughter too?” Cried the man.

Lucina, never really one for jokes, offered her most sincere tone. “I am a little upset, yes.”

That reply seem to have dealt an emotional blow to Chrom, who had grown dejected. Chrom had a weakness - he took Lucina’s words much too seriously for his own good on occasion. His daughter was now pouting even harder at her father, as if it was possible, but it was lighthearted.

“Lucina and I were only worried. You are the superior fighter between you and I, afterall, always reminding me who has more strength or stamina in a fight. Or wait… Chrom, you’re not ill, are you?”

The tactician reached his head towards that forehead, but is stopped by a palm.

Chrom started laughing in relief, the sound so very welcomed by the other two. The way those blue eyes sparkled now told Robin Chrom was no longer haunted by whatever that was plaguing him, and that was all Robin really needed to know.

“Not ill at all. Sorry, mother.”

Ah, so Chrom thinks he’s being naggy, was he?

Robin pushed past that palm, instead gently landing a tap on Chrom’s forehead. “Your tactician,” he corrected.

Lucina was about to roll her eyes, but refrained. “I hope you’re feeling better, father.”

“Much better. What have I done to deserve the both of you?”

Unexpectedly, Robin suddenly felt his mood lifting too.

They sat around for a little while longer, chatting and enjoying each other’s company.

Briefly Robin wondered if such blissful moments would still be granted to him when he returned. It seemed difficult, now that his work in Ylisse was so little, given all the new alliances and the peace, that he could simply leave his position easily. Yet the house of Ylisse gave him a room in the castle, and said he was family. Robin never could really understand it. They have no obligation to take him in, and while their bonds were strong, he hesitated to truly call them family. Even the value of his work became too small to pay for the extravagant roof over his head.

Chrom had a kingly duty and a family. Robin had his job and an oath to support Chrom so long as he drew breath. Any other feelings are irrelevant.

They split up at Askr’s communal bath, Lucina going into the female section while Chrom and Robin went to the male’s.

Amazingly, no one else was in this particular bath.

The hot water on his skin was felt wonderful. Robin could feel the water move as Chrom follows suit, taking his position at a respectable distance away. Too conscious, he moved towards a corner that he liked, and consciously directly his eyes towards a completely empty area. Best to avoid an… accident, than to tempt one.

Humming softly in a jovial mood, Robin soaked in the bliss.

“Robin. There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask…” Chrom spoke suddenly. Robin didn’t know which direction the other was facing, his voice echoing off the walls.

“Hm?”

“Do you have any plans for, uh, marriage?”

Robin was taken aback by the question. His mind raced with multiple questions of his own like an invisible riot. “That’s sudden.”

“Am I stepping out of line?”

“No, no, of course not.” The line was too blurry to now, but they were indeed close. Robin is careful picking his words. “Why an interest?”

A huff, and then Chrom spoke. “I figured it was about time you settled down. Every one of the shepherds have found their others and married. Was thinking it’d be nice to, you know, watch my closest friend finally tie the knot, live a happy life and perhaps father some children. Or adopt.”

Robin laughed hollowly. He didn’t know if it was from knowing that Chrom was watching after him, or from the hopelessness that was his love life. His heart twisted with a disgusting sort of warmth. “I’m not seeing anyone, unfortunately. No children for me either way.”

“Do you not feel lonely?”

“...Sometimes, yes. But I can never imagine myself a married man.” Robin admitted.

Before the other even spoke, Robin could feel an idea dawning on the other man. An awful idea.

“How about Lissa and I arrange a partner for you, the most eligible bachelor in all of Ylisse?”

For some reason, that set off a dreadful feeling within Robin. He felt it stirring inside- his heart twisting and his body chilling within the warm water that he had to clench his own jaw so he wouldn’t say things he’d regret later. It was almost insulting, for Chrom, of all people, to suggest that.

The silence Robin gave was deafening enough to hear.

“Sorry. That was terribly inappropriate for me to meddle in your relationship matters.”

“I know you mean well but I’m quite alright as I am, really. Let’s not speak of this topic anymore.”

There was a pause.

“I was only thinking of your happiness. I have been, for a while now.”

Robin had done nothing to deserve this sickening torture. Why was Chrom now attempting to fill a gap that was in the shape of him? He bit the insides of his lips, unable to hate Chrom’s concern for him.

He shook his head. What a foolish man. Walking the path towards the future Chrom desired was good enough. This _was_ his happiness.

Perhaps in another world, it would be different. There was a female self who had stayed briefly and then left when she did not see her Chrom, her husband, her happiness. It was a secret between the two of them, and he tried so hard to forget, but here it is again, mocking him. Taunting him.

“You worry too much, Chrom. Save that concern for your own family.” Robin inhales a breath for courage, hugging his knees. “Even if I were to stay single until my face wrinkles, I’d still be content just to walk alongside you on whichever path you choose.”

“...I see,” the tone of the two words were not of acknowledgement, Robin noted.

There was no point in addressing the elephant in the room when there were no solution at hand - it will only lead to further dilemas.

Robin stood up and exited the waters.

“Let’s go find you a healer for that leg.”

* * *

 

Chrom brushed a hand over his bruise, and regretted the accident with a wince. What was once red has now been replaced by a darkening mix of blue and black.There’s a mutual understanding that it had been a sparring match and the way one was to pay for mistakes was with light injuries like these. Robin stood beside him, somewhat regretting how hard he had delivered that blow.

Priscilla focused her magic, and with a glow the flesh beneath mended, leaving only traces of the superficial blood left behind under the skin. It will go away in time.

Thank the gods wounds like these can be easily fixed, than to wait a few days for it to heal.

“Here we are.”  
  
“Thank you.”

Chrom put his shoes back and on and adjusted the flaps with ease.

“No trouble at all. Please take care of yourself.”

Reaching for the door for Chrom, Robin awkwardly sputtered. “S-sorry.”

“No. Don’t be.” Chrom patted the other in the back. “I feel much better now. promise.”

They left the room, with Lucina waiting outside by a pillar.

But the outside of the castle’s infirmary was no longer calm and quiet, it was buzzing with frantic activity. Soldiers were running every which way, carrying medical supplies from within the storage room next door, shouting orders at each other. Robin spotted the few heroes who were on healing duty following the men and women down the hallway towards the portals.

One of the soldiers knocked on the door opposite of what they just emerged out off, handing a few healing staffs to Priscilla.

“The injured will be coming in. Can we count on you?”

“Of course. Bring them here.” Priscilla said, and the soldier left as quickly as he came.

“Father. Robin.” Greeted Lucina. Bewilderment brought on by the flood of activity was evidently on her face, even as she faced them.

Chrom jogged up towards his daughter, while Robin looked around curiously. “What is this all about, Lucina?”

“The Prince of Askr just ran by. He told me there was a surprise attack on one of the forts, though it doesn't seem we are to be deployed… Another team has been called for.”

A white cloaked figure suddenly came darting through the area with laboured breathing, hands gripped like a vice on their maps, their hood almost flying off their head.

“Summoner! Are you heading towards the portals?” Chrom’s tone carried a commanding presence, more than enough for the Summoner to stop dead in their tracks, almost tripping over their own feet.

Kiran’s eyes bore into blue as they heaved, and nodded.

Lucina took a step forward. “Can we help?”

The summoner paused for a moment, before shaking their head. They made a gesture pointing towards the ground instead. They smiled, as if to assure them Kiran had the situation under control. Robin could feel the exhaustion hang above Kiran’s head. This tactician looked as though they hadn’t slept much lately, if at all.

”Alright, we’ll stay here. Let us know if if you need us.” Robin said, not knowing what he could really do.

They nodded, bowed quickly in thanks and bolted off towards the direction of the portals. The sounds of frantic footsteps around them soon faded, the area once again quiet. Robin does not doubt it will get busy in due time with the injured guided in.

A pity he’s not a healer.

Robin scratches his head. He’s not sure what he should do in times like these- watching Kiran scamper around and checking up on everyone reminded him too much of himself, but when it came to actions he was often turned down when he offered help.

Robin would not be pleased if another tactician challenged his authority or did things in a different manner. Plans would fall apart, arguments would be had, and that’s not even touching on the more morally grey side of matter of warfare decision making. So he understands that there was little need for his tactical skills in Askr.

Perhaps he wished Kiran came to him more so they could speak in the same language that always flew over every shepherd’s head. Even Chrom’s.

”I must say, the way Kiran works is very reminiscent of you, even only if they speak to a select few, especially Alfonse.” The princess said, looking at Robin. “You are both very capable at protecting what matters most dearly to you.”

Chrom chokes on his own saliva and coughs desperately into his hand to clear his throat.

The tactician looked to the side, fiddling with his sleeve. Why does every word coming out of the father-daughter duo sound so… suspect today? Robin frowned. “It’s simply our duties as tacticians. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“H-hold on Lucina. A word with you.” Chrom put both hands on his daughter’s shoulders, and ushered her towards a corner, quickly exchanging words in hushed whispers.

While he did not know or want to care the topic of that private conversation, Robin did cross his arms, discreetly hugging himself.

For all it’s worth, Robin would bet his chips Kiran and Alfonse felt absolutely nothing for each other.

* * *

 

Grima tapped his foot by the door.

Kiran was late. So incredibly late.

The knocks should have come, and they should have been done with ‘tea’ a long time ago. Yet he felt the time pass, from measurement of hours to minutes to seconds.

The skies had turned into a light orange hue, and for some inexplicable reason he remembers Plegia, spent in that dark castle where the only hint of the sky was through a small window at the top corner of the throne room. Along with that reminder came the phantom scent of the blood soaked carpets, the faint smell of decaying flesh that splintered into the ground whenever the mortals decided it was time for a sacrifice.

But there were no such scent here. Only the silence and emptiness of the room greeted him.

Grima could leave and venture outside, see for himself why the Summoner had failed to turn up today. Or he could stay, until the next day, and confront the mortal himself.

His hand rested on the door frame.

If he left the room, it was highly probably he would run into that irritating, unwavering and straightforward blue. He would walk into that other who turned his back on godhood, and that tiny one who seemed so frightful and eager to rip him apart. He would too, run into dozens of other ‘heroes’ that were called into this place. 

He remained still.

The Summoner had told him they would be visiting today. This would be the first time they failed to keep their word.

He threw the door open and walked. Throwing his hood over himself, he made smoothly made his way past a handle of other heroes along his path.

They didn’t bat an eye, but Grima knew from the way they smell of fear that they suspected the Fell Dragon was walking amongst them. Fitting, but annoying.

It didn't take long for him to reach the most likely place where the Summoner would be in. He opens the door to the strategy room without ceremony, but the insides were empty.

Opening another set of doors, the library was equally devoid of that white figure as well.

The unlikely training ground held no people or activity.

Feh was the only being present in the main hall, letters and orbs at the side of her nest. She looked at him, head tilting sideways in curiosity. Then she flew atop his head, sitting her soft body on it, but Grima pushed her off. Feh flapped her wings, and went back to perching on her usual spot.

“Hmph…”

The outside was gradually darkening. Perhaps the mortal had went for dinner. Nourishment was a necessary process for the living, he reasoned.

As unwilling as he was, he walked towards the mess hall. Noise, unobstructed by the giant doors, flooded and bounced off the hallway like a tide, grating on his ears. He much preferred it yesterday when it was just him and the Summoner, until those meddlesome ones entered the scene.

He was quiet, unassuming in the face of the activity by the doorway. But that flood of noise quickly dwindled to a dead silence between a gathering of hundreds when they started to notice. And then, the whispers began.

“Grima.”

“ _That’s_ Grima?”

“Ooh! When did a second Robin arrive?”

“Elise…”

Grima ignored the hushed voices under his nose. He searched, but that lone, white accented with gold was nowhere to be found inside.

A flash of a particular shade of blue on a certain man turned his heels, and he felt compelled to leave.

Where was Kiran?

“Grima. Wait.”

Grima’s feet stops at the voice. It’s that man.

“You. When will you learn to stay away from me?”

Grima refused to turn around to see that face. He has no reason to subject himself to inner turmoil.

“If it’s the Summoner you are searching for, I have heard from Princess Fjorm they will be returning soon. Kiran is currently tying up loose ends at the frontlines.”

How incredibly asinine. A tactician without any fighting experience may as well forfeit their lives and leave it to rot at the frontlines than to try. But Kiran’s state of mind wasn’t a puzzle he could pick apart nor solve.

“Hm.”

Not caring if the other was following, Grima reached the portals, and waited.

The skies are darkened once more, the splash of white-blue and the moon both backdrops to scattered specks of twinkling white. The torches outside were lit, embers spilling out and fading away into the night.

He exhaled a misty breath, standing still in silence.

Grima could feel presence behind him. Three presence. He knew who they were, and he did not care to turn around, for the result of the confrontation would bring no merit, and result only in conflict.

They talked behind him, all the while fully factoring Grima's presence. Good. That was how it should be.

The day seem to stretch to no ends today, Grima thought. If he returned to his own world, this quietness would all be gone. There would be no Summoner to watch over. There would be no such scenery to see. But he could feel it in his very being. This would all have to end one day, as with the world he came from, for that is what his people wanted. He shall deal with the matter when it comes knocking on his door.

He was not aware the actual time passed, but when one of the portals glowed brightly, he moved, carried by an emotion of his own that he did not recognize.

“Look, Kiran. We’ve returned home.”

“Nngh…” The Summoner groaned, facing the ground as they leaned on the Prince of Askr to move. “Thanks.”

The both of them looked nothing close to clean or proper. Alfonse was battered, his white was outfit stained in blood, his armor was looking chipped and broken, but he was otherwise in good health.

Kiran, on the other hand, did not look battered, but their signature cloak had a significant tear in the right sleeve that flew in the wind as they walked, blood soaking the fabric all the way to the rim of the sleeve, and they emulated a Risen fool in how they walked.

“So much for the notebook idea… Haha.” Kiran spoke as they waved their right arm to make a point, which now Grima looked closer, was in a sling. Kiran winced, making a noise that sounded suspiciously like a word, but ended up sounding like a sizzle. “Holy hell.”

“You shouldn’t move that for a few days. Gods, Kiran. Don’t worry for once, and allow me take care of the talking for yo-”

Alfonse looked up, and saw an ensemble of two of the most unlikeliest group. His facial expression immediately dropped.

“Good evening,” greeted the Prince. Turning to Kiran, he spoke again. “I see Grima, Chrom, Robin and Lucina in front of us.”

“...” Despite facing down at the uninteresting ground, Grima could see Kiran’s jaw was slack and open. In place of the vocal words they just used, there was a whisper of a phrase that only Alfonse could hear.

Alfonse raises an eyebrow. “None of us here possesses bows or arrows, Kiran. And no. I will not shoot you.”

The hand that was warped around Alfonse's shoulder raised lethargically in greeting, as with their head, though Kiran visibly had trouble focusing.

“What happened?” Robin immediately came closer, past Grima, and checked Kiran’s injury. He ran a hand to gently open the cloak, revealing bandages wrapped all the way up to the elbow.

“A swordsman. Kiran took the hit for me, though it was too deep for the healers to mend fully.”

Grima felt it. It felt hot, and it burned. He snarled, the emotion bubbling and stirring. It felt so familiar, yet strange and foreign. 

“I have not given you permission to die, mortal.”

Surprise blanketed the area.

Kiran stayed silent, their face painted with delirium, as if exhaustion had crept and seeped into every part of their body. Their mouth moved in desperation, as if there were words that the Summoner wanted to say, but couldn’t. A tap on Alfonse’s shoulder from the Summoner released the Prince’s steady hold, and they took a step closer towards the Fell Dragon.

Mild noises of concern went off around him.

Grima stood still, his mind still angry at _something._ He does not protest as the Summoner took his hand with their left, and guided his fingertips towards their neck, pressing it in.

Around them were the protests of the action, frantic and heavy, but he barely heard it, his attention too drawn away. Thumping. He could feel rapid thumping beneath that vulnerable skin, the flow of blood in a very much alive human - he felt life.

Grima does not know what to make of the action.

Kiran let go of the hand, and went back to leaning on Alfonse, tugging weakly at the other’s arm.

“My apologies. If you would like a report, I shall prepare one by the end of tomorrow. But for now, I shall be taking Kiran back to their room.”

“Lucina, stay with Robin. Let me help, Prince. You hardly seem energetic yourself.”

“No, I-” The tug on his arm interrupted him. “Yes, thank you.”

The three of them huddled together, supporting each other through the doorways and back into the castle.

Grima looked at his hand. That phantom thumping lingered when he rubbed his fingertips. Curiously, he bought them up to his own neck.

It wasn’t blood, or life. Underneath his skin coursed something else entirely. It was nothing close to the sensation Kiran showed him. It was a river of sinister taboo magic that powers his being, brought forth not of his own will.

_Ah, I see._

Grima turns, towards Robin, for some inexplicable reason he can’t pinpoint himself.

He laughs, soaking in every bit of the confusion dripping out of the other two, as he walked away.

“I am dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i thirsty for comments and kudos. uhehehe


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think this is a chaotic chapter but it needed to be done, dattebayo.

Chrom hoisted the Summoner’s arm so he could better support their weight as Alfonse took their left, slightly forward by a few steps to lead the way. He’d been surprised at how light Kiran was compared to Robin. Perhaps it was the lack of muscles that contributed to the weight… More than anything, he’s more surprised at how much stamina he still has after a chain of eventful encounters, but it wasn’t such a bad thing considering how tired Alfonse must be.

“Should you really be leaving Robin and Lucina alone with Grima?”

“You looked like you needed help. Besides, I have no clue what I should say to Grima. I know he’s harmless now, but he doesn’t seem to appreciate my mere presence.”

To his own ears, all he heard were his own sorry excuse. Chrom knew he had ran away like a coward, instead of confronting the problem. But Robin would be alright. His daughter, stronger than her father, was there.

He sighs, and his focus washing all over the carpet he’d been walking over.

His talk with Robin in the bathhouse, and had proved without a shadow of a doubt Robin would indeed give his entire life to him, and it drove a blade deep into Chrom’s heart. It was a matter of time before their pretense broke, and Chrom would lash out one day when he could no longer stand watching Robin in such a state of anguish in his love life. His truest regret was suggesting to find him a partner to wed. He should have been served an Elthunder right then and there in the waters, and he would have no one else to blame but himself for trampling over the other’s feelings.

With Grima, knowing that Robin was still trapped within that shell brought a different sort of helplessness. It’s a word Grima associated himself with - despair. If he closed his eyes, he could just barely imagine the pleas of help, torturing him and his decision to press the matter. Now that he was aware, what could he do? Extend a helping hand, and perhaps have Grima rip it off? Kill Grima, and spit in the face of mercy? He had no answer. There was no solution within sight.

Chrom bit his lip and went through the motions, moving one step at a time.

The cause for all this chaos within him was half his fault, and half the Summoner’s. He’d just been holding it in, utilizing all he knew of Kingly facades and do’s-and-don’ts, and what he had learnt over the years. At least one of them had their eyes fixated on a goal, while he struggled in his own spot trying to find a compromise that may not exist.

They stop in front of a double door, in the more private, royal area of the castle. It’s a few floors up, next to a few other important looking double doors. Chrom would suspect one of those belonged to Alfonse.

The Prince reached for the door handle, but it only rattles instead of giving way.

“It’s locked. Kiran, where is your- Oh.”

Chrom followed Alfonse’s direction only to see that Kiran has passed out from exhaustion, the dark eyebags reflecting how much sleep they’ve been staving off with will-power alone. The Prince sighs from the long day he’s had.

With Chrom’s slight shaking, Kiran’s body flopped about limply without stirring. “Someone’s out like a light.”

Chrom must have been sorting out matters within his head to not have realized the person he was carrying along had gone limp. Granted, they were lighter and smaller than Robin, but nevertheless this was in physical contact. Chrom can’t laugh at Robin for being the only one absorbed into their thoughts anymore.

“Hold on.” Alfonse shifts a little, directing weight onto his other feet while rummaging through his pockets. He produced a key, and swiftly unlocked the door with a click. “Right, here we are.”

Chrom can’t help but raise an eyebrow. “You… You have the key to Kiran’s room?”

Alfonse tilted his head. “Indeed I do. Why?”

The exalt’s expression is what one would make when leaping into conclusions, eyes going to the corner. “Private rooms tend to be locked for a reason, Prince. Even I do not possess the key to my tactician’s private quarters.”

The words struck a realization into Alfonse, and he was suddenly too conscious about the presence of another royalty in the room. The Prince cannot help but tense, rushing to light the room before Chrom entered with the unconscious party.

“I can assure you, there is nothing scandalous behind this agreement between us.“

“An agreement between you and Kiran?”  
  
“Yes. Kiran can be horrible at taking care of themselves or asking for help, hence why I have a key. They don’t… talk much, after all.”

The room gradually bloomed under the watchful glow of light.

“Oh, set Kiran on the bed, I’ll take care of everything else.”

Chrom obeyed the request, feeling very out of place in the very private room.

Alfonse quickly got to work, moving to the bathroom connected to the room to draw some water, and swiped a cloth.

Chrom distracted himself as his foot stood rooted to the spot. Looking around, he saw that there were various nicknacks in the room. From the ceilings dangled wooden birds, a wind chime hung at the window, many unrealistic stuffed animals to the bed, bulky and tall shaped towers on a table, and various other, tiny, little things. It was dizzying to note them all.

But then there was normalcy; bookshelves, study desks,typical curtains and such furnated the room. It reminded him he hasn’t quite stepped foot on some alien land yet, and was catching a glimpse of a world traveller’s mind.

Chrom tips his head towards the ceiling in particular, where the herd of not-quite-birds varying in odd smoothness and shape flocked in stillness.

“Makes no sense, does it? Kiran crafted one, but it eventually got out of hand.” Alfonse said as he walked in with a bucket of water, sleeves rolled up, and set it beside the bed, hands moving to remove their bloodied cloak.

“These are from Kiran’s world, aren’t they? Are these… birds that live in theirs?” Chrom questioned. The wings, if they were, were ill suited for movement.

“Not quite.” Alfonse pointed at one of the birds. “Kiran calls them airplanes. Machinations meant to take 400 people up into the air over mountains and oceans. Imagine that.”

Chrom frowned. Paper airplanes, sure, but… “But these are… tiny.”

“Scale models.” Alfonse replied with a chuckle. “Kiran made them just to show me, since it’s rather difficult to imagine with words alone. When I finally understood it, they smiled for an entire day.”

He wondered if the younger Prince was aware that he was smiling too. Robin had been right, their bond resembled his and Robin’s own, yet there was a certain quality about it - a certain wordly distance that he could feel between the two - that sounded as though the two’s bonds was fated to start and end at being only the best of friends.

“It’s a pity then they do not speak to me, then. I would have loved to hear their otherworldly tales.”

Alfonse paused as he wrung the cloth. “I hope one day you do.”

The way Kiran had clammed up in front of Grima had proved without a shadow of a doubt the root of the issue stemmed from something far more superficial than mere stubbornness. That day might just be too far off.

Alfonse quietly began wiping dirt off Kiran’s face with complete disregard to the other nobility in the room. Chrom’s eyes wandered behind, creeping towards the doors.

“I’ll go call for someone.”

“Oh no, it’s alright, I’m repaying the favor. It could have been my neck.”

That arm was wrapped in so much bandage, giving Chrom an impression of how bad it had truly been. He understood how Alfonse felt, and what must have drove Kiran to put themselves in danger. If this had been Robin, he’d execute the dastard who dared to harm his tactician in rage.

Chrom ran a hand through his hair. “I suppose I would do the same if I were in your shoes. Now I see why Robin tells me our bonds are similar.”

Alfonse perked his ears and listened. “Similar how?”

“The foundation built upon, I suppose. Lissa and I stumbled into Robin in the grass, sleeping and without memory. Thinking back now, it feels almost as though the gods have given him to me, as strange as that may sound. The moment he started issuing orders, our victories were practically ensured, even if I cannot fully understand how he pulls off one miracle after another. It’s much like yours.”

Water splashed into the bucket from a wrung cloth, working on skin. “How uncanny. I don’t suppose your tactician spends time checking up on everyone of the shepherds often as well?”

“Oh, Robin does that. Everyday.”

Eyebrows shot upwards. “How do tacticians keep up with that?”

“Beats me.”

They laughed in understanding. Chrom had a large part in recruiting men to his cause, but not always getting to know them. Yet there was Robin, speaking to absolutely everyone and remembering all of their birthdays. Incredible.

“In truth, it’s a blessing we are called here. He’s been looking much more relaxed without work bothering him. I can’t even remember the last time we’ve spent this much time together since I’ve become king, even though we see each other everyday.”

“Well, I am glad you are all enjoying your stay here. Being king or tactician must be difficult if you aren’t allowed to take a breather once in a while.”

The large blanket to the side was dragged to the side, but Chrom extended a hand, both men maneuvering the blanket over Kiran. Alfonse took extra care making sure the fabric was fitted nicely under that injured arm.

“Out of curiosity, how does the sephard function? Do you house them in your own castle, like what we do here?”

“Not in times of peace, and usually in the barracks.”

Alfonse crossed his arms, puzzled. “Then ‘everyday’? Oh, the private quarters you mentioned, could that be...?”

Chrom nodded. “I gave him a room in my castle, since he had nowhere to go.” Chrom’s eyes lit up with glee. “It has a little corner with a window Robin might love to read a good book in. I hope he finds it to his liking.”

Alfonse chuckled, his eyes glinting with a sense of enlightenment. “I see. You seem to treasure your tactician a lot.”

Chrom’s mind hadn’t registered what he’d said until the traitorous words slipped out of its own accord.

“He _is_ my treasure.”

Chrom paused in shock, before he slapped a hand over his mouth. Embarrassment washed over him, and he cursed the floor for not having a hole where he could plunge his head into. Gods, he may as pummel one out from the stones with his fists himself!

“Ah, er. We’ve spoke of nothing tonight here. I’ve not heard anything.”

How sensible was this prince?!

Alfonse held the door for him, and Chrom shuffled outside immediately. The air was much less stuffy, although not by a large margin.

“Please don’t mention this to anyone. Especially… Especially Robin. Please.”

“I won’t.” Alfonse replied calmly. A right hand covered his chest, where his heart is. “I swear it, as a friend.”

Chrom berated himself inside, and he prayed the younger Prince was a true man of his words.

“I appreciate it.”

The exalt stood in his spot for a few good moments, steaming in his own skin. Private matters are meant to be private, not sprung up on another person who he’d started knowing for a few months. Alfonse was a friend, not a confidant.

“Good night, then.”

“Good night.”

“Remember, not a word!”

Chrom couldn’t hear if Alfonse responded because his ears burned red hot, phantom heat still radiating off his mistake. His feet were light, his was mind giddily high. His heart raced, and when he brought a hand up to his own lips, it was still tingling sweetly with the sensation of how right those liberated words felt.

Robin was his treasure. His irreplaceable other half he’d found one day in the grass, who devoted everything in his power to his King without question.

But… could he really admit his feelings in full?

His current Lucina loved her mother, spending as much time together with her as Chrom during the campaign. She would understand, after all, she’d been teasing him about his relationship with Robin lately, earning himself sass during their whispers this afternoon.

Yet the Lucina back at his home was still young. The girl had just started writing her stories of knights and big bad dragons to share, and still haven’t learnt the ways of the sword. It would hurt her; she wouldn’t understand why daddy was suddenly leaving mommy, enamored with another person not related to her by blood.

There were much more at stake here than just his own selfish desires. To admit that he wanted Robin, to officially start a romantic relationship would be driving a stake through everything he had. What would his people think? What would his family think? More importantly, in spite of all the talk of marriage and happiness after their spar, what would Robin _think_?

He paused, a couple of steps more to his door, one step away to touching the door to Robin’s room. Robin. Chrom shouldn’t have left him behind so abruptly, even if he intended to help the two returned warriors struggling before him.

Grima proved to be rather… docile. The Fell Dragon would not lift a finger, not in this land. Robin would be safe, but even so, the assurance he’d given to Robin to calm his unease was by no means a magical cure-all.

Chrom swallowed, and knocked only twice. Perhaps Robin had fallen asleep; the hour was late.

It opened.

“Hey,” Chrom huffed out in a low tone, not wanting to disturb his daughter who was just next door.

Blue eyes met gold for a brief moment, but lost contact. “Chrom? It’s late, what’s wrong?”

Robin’s hand gripped the front of his cloak, shutting the cold out, but Chrom knew from that one night so long ago that it was more than a shield from the chills, more than a simple cover to hide his sleepwear. It was Robin’s armor, the only constant in his life, and he hugged it much too tightly.

Robin wasn’t alright.

“Only wanted to check up on you. I shouldn’t have left like that.”

The shorter man blinked wearily at the words. Grima must have said something, because now all Robin could do was to divert his focus elsewhere with lips drawn to a line. Robin had approached Kiran, one arm’s reach away from touching the Fell Dragon. A mere presence not enough to rattle his mind like this. Or Chrom’s intuition could be off.

Nevertheless, his intuition told him to be here, for him.

“I’m… fine. I was just about to fall asleep.”

A lie.

Chrom sees it for what it is, a repeat of that whole ordeal again years ago, of those nights plagued by insomnia and tortured sleep. He can’t help the hand that pushes past his hair, gripping his fringe at the back.

“Wait for me. I won’t be long.”

Life on the campaign often involved efficiency in time management, especially on the move, and Chrom does not recall ever taking such a hasty shower outside of it. He slaps on his own sleepwear, and jogs the couple of steps to Robin who was patiently waiting by the door as requested.

Gold eyes went wide, the events of what must be about to happen hitting home despite emotions running about in disarray and disharmony.

“Chrom, you don’t-”

Stubbornly, he pushed his luck. “But I will, so let me. You need your sleep too.”

No further protest were made. Robin simply let the other man with an idea in his thick skull in, and shut the door behind.

The room smelled familiar and calming. It was a mix of books, of tomes, of ink and maps and a particular scent of soap and its sole occupant. This was the same scent on the cloak that Chrom clung onto desperately for those years of absence. It was, in no other terms, Robin’s scent.

Robin silently shuffled to his bed, tiredly shedding of his cloak and draped it across a chair, deliberately laying down on his side so he could face the wall. The beds provided was wide, and there was ample room for both of them to occupy. Chrom followed, shoving all hesitation aside, and laid down with the blanket over them both.

“You do realize,” Robin spoke softly, “that this is not… proper?”

“I know you would not sleep come dawn, and I do not care,” Chrom replied, shifting so the back of that head of white hair was in view within the darkness. “I’m here to ward off your nightmares tonight.”

The tenseness in those slender shoulders faded a tad, and the bed sunk with the looseness. “You are incorrigible. I would have been fine.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

Chrom’s cheek pressed itself into the extra pillow, his focus on the other’s breathing past the gap of distance they’ve put between them. The other man was still wide awake. There was a question at the tip of his tongue, but Chrom isn’t sure if pressuring the other was the right option.

“Grima is dead,” Robin starts, so low and sudden it would have gone unheard if he had even caressed the surface layer of sleep.

Chrom fluttered his eyelids open, moving one arm under the pillow.

“The body he possesses, that me from another world, is dead, Chrom. What do you suppose happened in that one?”

The question tickled all of the worst scenarios he could think of.

“Don’t. It is not our world to see.”

“It is Lucina’s. She will return to that one when we leave this place.”

The reply comes like a blow to the face. Robin’s mind must be speared with all sorts of scenarios, some of which Chrom can’t even fathom. Understanding and being at the mercy of the hurt were two very different things.

At that moment, a realization comes to him. The war against the Grimaleals hadn’t truly ended at all. In their hearts still laid the old wounds exposed to the slightest aggravation, tearing itself bigger, deeper when scars should have already formed.

“Robin.”

With both arms, Chrom captured the body of the other male and hugged it tightly to his own frame, nuzzling his nose to the back of that hair. Robin squeaked, but did not struggle.

“It’ll be alright. We are all alright. I’m here.”

Chrom felt a warm hand covering his.

“You’re here,” Robin repeated to himself.

They lay still until a yawn escapes the King, and they both know what they needed to ward off the unknowns.

The both of them quickly falls asleep, their breaths lulled into the deepest part of unconsciousness.

For once, Chrom wakes up the next morning without his daughter’s greeting, feeling much more refreshed and warm than ever. When he looked over to Robin, he found the rays of morning sunshine playing with Robin’s hair, giving it an iridescent glow, with a peaceful smile gracing on that sleeping face. Chrom brought a hand to support his chin as he brushed aside the white locks of hair, lost in the serenity of it all.

The calm brings thoughts to the shore, gently like waves.

Chrom does not know how to proceed.

* * *

Robin tried not to think too much about the alarmingly good sleep he had last night, the muscular body pressed to his while he drifted off, the indecent aftermath presented when he woke up, the awkward way he had to chase Chrom out of his room while hugging the blanket to his chest, or how Lucina was visually giving him a shakedown especially around his neck.

But he did not see the nightmares he expected to come. He woke up to Chrom, greeting him, smiling at him, and his heart leapt before awareness kicked in. Robin was forced to conclude that Chrom was an individual who was objectively bad for his heart.

There won’t be a next time. The King had appearances to keep, and Robin would be the torch to burn it all to cinders.

But undeniably, he did feel… lighter. Everything felt alright.

That was hours ago. Now, Robin he chided himself mentally, this was the time to be professional.

With a mind calmer than it had ever been, Robin’s eyes ran through the report, and returned it to the prince. Chrom was beside him, close enough so they could look at the same report together without compromise.

“Well, not bad, all things considered. Casualties are to a minimum, and the enemy was even routed. How long was this in the works?”

Deep down, Robin’s tactical instincts were scratching on a chalkboard. It wasn’t that Kiran was bad at tactics, no. Quite competent, in fact. But frustratingly, Robin could see himself in that same position, handling the situation differently, utilizing all he’d learned from the campaigns and more. Gods, he almost missed the dreadful thrill of it all. Brigands can hardly offer a good exercise, yet at the end of the day, work is work, even if it’s practically a walk-over.

Pride is pride.

“2 days?” A familiar voice spoke, and Robin had to look up to realize that of course Kiran could not speak. At least not to them, not to Robin. Alfonse was watching to decode the signs for them, at his own desk.

The hand that Kiran raised had indeed 2 digits flagged up to answer, but they waved it weakly.

It’s strange how Robin could begin to pick up on the silent words Krian was trying to say, though oftentimes short and never with any complex sentence structures.

“2 weeks.”

The hand gave a thumbs up sign, and settled back down to their stomach. Their right arm was still in a sling, and their skin was almost as pale as their cloak, white laying in contrast to the red cloth spread across on the couch beneath. Slight puffs of shallow breathing gave him a hint of how Kiran was feeling right now. They’ve definitely seen better days.

“Is that long?” Chrom asked Robin. The both of them were seated around a table and offered tea, made by by Kiran before they had to retire on the couch from apparent anemia.

“More than enough to show how much foresight was put into this. Kiran’s a good tactician in their own right.”

A dumbfounded smile emerged on Kiran’s face as they turned away, flattered by the compliment. Though, they did swat away the words, hand waving in denial.

“That’s some high praise, coming from you,” the exalt said with amazement in his voice.

“Ah, but I do mean what I say. Just because I have a different approach does not invalidate other methods.”

He wondered if Chrom had been putting him on a pedestal. He wasn’t some god-like being who reigned over tactics, but it certainly seemed Chrom thought otherwise.

“Anyway, will your tactician be alright, Prince?” Chrom asked.

“Kiran’s stubborn enough to tell me off this morning. They’ll be fine.” The Prince said with a smile. “Although, we will have to slow down activities for a few days until Kiran feels well again. Nothing I cannot handle meantime, so fret not.”

The hand gestured towards Alfonse, as if saying, _‘what he’d said.’_

“Shall I lend you Robin for the time being? My tactician is very dependable!” Chrom suggested with blinding faith so bright it lacked any hostility.

Robin raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “Chrom.”

“I shall consider it.”

Immediately, he snapped his head to watch Kiran grunting softly, rising up with difficulty and shot Chrom a very, very sour look. But all they got in return for their efforts was an overwhelming wave of dizziness, and their posture broke as they sunk backwards to the couch ungracefully, sitting haphazardly like an overweight cat.

Chrom tensed as Kiran stuck a tongue out at him cheekily. Robin was all Chrom ever needed for tactics, and this may be the first time he has ever offended another for not understanding the pride of being in his position.

He will have to explain it better later.

“I thought you said you were feeling good enough to work in the morning,” Alfonse glared at Kiran, who shrunk at the pressure, facing away.

Robin sighed, drinking his tea. It was surprisingly good and earthy, similar to what Frederick prepares. “And Chrom, I know I am technically your tactician, and our friends might find our assistance a boon, but surely you could have worded the suggestion better.”

“Worded what better?”

“Your po-... Nevermind.”

There were two extra people who did not need to hear the rest of that statement. Chrom could be too honest for his own good, really, but what was Robin to do about his nature? He played with his sleeves, worrying the edges hoping the awkwardness would pass.

Chrom looked hopelessly lost on what he had just said, his eyebrows knotting together, before it was undone. “Oh,” he said.

A silent snicker from Alfonse was all the room got out of his slipup. Robin’s ears burned.

“I can’t believe this.” Robin whispered under his own breath.

Chrom seemed to be having a similar episode, finding it impossible to meet Robin in the eye.

Their only saving grace was that Alfonse was a sensitive, respectful prince, and the other was almost incapable of speech. But even so!

Kiran looked up with what bare attentiveness they had scraped up under the flood of fogginess, fingers on their chin, eyes barely focused, the gears in their mind turning, grating. The resulting thoughts produced both terrifying and embarrassingly unknown to Robin.

But a sudden hand placed over their eyes told Robin and Chrom both that whatever question at the tip of their fingers was to be shelved for another day. He supposed the increased sensitivity to light was the only clear indicator of how bad the blood loss truly was underneath all that stubbornness and silence.

Perhaps he should agree to the temporary post. But then again, Robin wasn’t the only option from the pool of summoned heroes.

“We should leave you to your rest.”

Kiran smiled apologetically and nodded at Robin, grateful.

“Let us know if you need us.” Chrom offered.

Seconds later, they were off to their day, the strategy room once again falling into silence.

Inside, Kiran slumped over on their seat, lying haphazardly chasing out the overwhelming dizziness to no avail, finally free of the two presence in the room.

Alfonse didn’t speak as Kiran laid still, staring at the empty floor, expression as blank as their mind.

“...Gonna sleep for a bit. Could you tell Grima I can’t meet him today?”

“Sure. I’ll send someone. You can work when you feel better.”

“Thanks.”

Kiran dragged their hood further down, eyelids shut to the world.

Alfonse honestly didn’t mind if they slept for an entire day. He stretched, briefly studying the ceiling, wondering what was the true relationship between Chrom and Robin. In many ways, it was similar to his and Kiran’s, but so vastly different as well.

Kiran did not owe Alfonse anything more than a contract. This, he solemnly knows.

Alfonse tapped his forehead, reminding himself it wasn’t his place to judge or question.

With a roll of his arm, the Prince got to work, aiming to finish today’s work before the Summoner woke up.

 

* * *

“So-”

“Well-”

The words meld into each other with an embarrassing sync in timing.

Robin jerked, playing with the rim of his sleeve, nibbling on the inside of his lips.

Chrom scratched the back of his head. “You first.”

“Alright, well.” Robin sucked in a deep breath. ”You shouldn’t have offered me to take up the position like that. It wounds a tactician’s feelings. I’m sure Kiran understands. But flip this around. Or rather, if this was Soren, I think you’d better sleep with one eye open.”

Chrom nodded, suppressing a shudder. That tactician of the winds kept dozens of knives under his clothes, all razor sharp, and liable to be thrown with precise accuracy the likes of which he’d never seen before.

“Gods, you’ve been the only tactician I’ve ever needed, and I never realized. I’ll make sure I apologize to Kiran properly.”

“As I said, I’m sure Kiran understands. Now, what were you trying to say before I stopped you?”

“Er, well. It’s about this morning…”

The tactician had to almost stop, swallowing down his growing unease from his own traitorous heartbeat.

“Is everything is fine between us? You sort of… kicked me out in a huff.”

Eyebrows raised, Robin coughed into his hand. “I-I mean, yes? We are fine, and there’s nothing between us. Didn’t want to, er, let Lucina know, since she is always the first to check up on you, though from the way she inspected me in the morning, I assume she’s aware.”

If anything, Lucina seemed to be too aware of certain matters that she should not be supportive of. Perhaps returning to her own future changed her, but Robin’s not so sure if it’s anything positive.

“I thought I could go back before she roused.”

Chrom decides to bury the fact that he had gotten too distracted to remember.

“Have a talk with her, before she starts having any strange ideas.”

“I will.”

They walk a few paces, towards the main hall where the other heroes gathered.

“But Chrom?”

“What is it?”

“I had a good night’s sleep, so thank you.”

Robin sped up his pace, fleeing towards the owl, who greeted the approaching heroes with a happy hoot.

* * *

 

Grima disliked like the day, but he certainly fancied the many shadows casted throughout the castle. There’s echoes of gossip, and no one kept an eye out for him. It’s a perfect cover.

It’s far better than to sit still in one room for a prolonged period of time, snapping at the one lowly messenger. Since when had silence gotten too quiet?

“My, did you hear? That group’s at it again, going on about their worship down in the city. They think they aren’t praying hard enough.”

A woman’s voice echoed down the hallway, gradually approaching his corner.

“I’ve heard. All this based on that one legend. Gosh, we don’t need to worship the Summoner to win the war.”

The other voice took a turn together, to the grounds outside.

“Indeed, and they pray to a mortal! It’s all just some skeevy scheme, I tell you. What God serves handmade pastries to mere servants on a whim, or gets injured defending the Prince?”

“Yes, just downright ridiculous!”

Grima covered his ears as the giggles hit him. It stopped abruptly, and he lifted his hands.

“Hmhm, what’s this I hear about Kiran and worship…?”

“P-Princess Sharena?!”

“Ohoh, you won’t spill? Well, come on then, let’s have a little chat over tea, shall we?”

Grima scoffed at the irony of it all.


	5. Chapter 5

Talk to Lucina before she starts having any strange ideas, Robin suggested, and that was precisely what Chrom did after leaving his tactician with Marth who didn’t mind the oddity of it. He was sure they would eventually find something to talk about, since Robin was actually far more amicable than Chrom is. Perhaps something to do with tactics or the past, or some other inane topic, but Robin would find a way.

Leave it to his ancestor from thousand of years ago. Askr is strange in a way that breaks his mind when he thought about it.

He struggled to find a footing with the conversation. Chrom is slightly jealous that Robin doesn’t have to worm his way out of this awkward situation, but then again this pit he’d fallen into was a long time coming.

“We didn’t do anything last night. By that I meant… Nothing you would be ashamed of.”

Good gods, what was he saying?

Lucina wasn’t buying any of that. “You went into his room in the dead of the night and came out in the morning in sleepwear. That’s not exactly convincing, Father.”

“He couldn’t sleep and I happened to notice. You’ve seen how bad his nightmares can get back during the campaign, didn’t you? We are just good friends, don’t get any strange ideas.”

Lucina stayed as silent as her Father, her glare being the most effective weapon in the world. Chrom wanted nothing more than to run and hide behind Robin, wherever the white haired man was. The exalt started looking around frantically, hoping desperately for a hole he could crawl into. There was no such haven.

This conversation must continue no further.

“...Please?” He begged, having arrived at the end of his rope.

Lucina relaxed a little, but was still strung. She struggled to figure out where she would steer this conversation towards. “I know,” she said.

Chrom heaved a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank y-”

“I know you love Robin far more than you love Mother.”

Lucina’s grip on her emotions was solid. Chrom couldn’t sense any disappointment when there should have been plenty. He deserved that much, at least.

He felt as if a wound had suddenly been split opened by a stray stone, and was now bleeding madly onto the ground.

“I don’t love Robin.” He blurted out so fast that the words were jumbled into a mishmash of mishap. And above all, it sounded so damn fake that it had no effect on Lucina. “W-where, a-hah, did you get that idea?”

“To begin with. Friends don’t exactly sleep in the same bed together when their own rooms are right next to each other. Friends don’t hold each other’s hands and share a tender talk to boost morales on the balcony. They don’t behave like a pair of lovebirds. You would know if you read one of those books Mother fancied.”

He winced. “You witnessed us on the balcony.”

“To be honest...” Lucina begun fiddling with some strands of her hair. His blood chilled. Chrom steeled himself for the worst. This pit of his would be flooded and he would drown in it, shame, guilt and all.

“I don’t exactly disapprove, Father. Perhaps I had not made that clear enough. You are rather dense sometimes.” 

Her words had Chrom completely stumped. He was at a total loss for words. Relief and panic had taken over, the two mixing so turbulently that he couldn’t distinguish the two when the dust began to settle.

“You... don’t? Wait, I am?”

“I suppose Mother haven’t yet told you why I decided to leave without telling you?” Lucina asked, and suddenly Chrom is left very, very blank. Her mother. Sumia. Jealousy stinged, but he couldn’t hazard a guess why, not on the spot. “She didn’t let you in on our discussion?”

“W-was it not because you missed your friends? You were the last to leave. That must be it, right?”

Lucina’s hair swayed gently as she shook her head. “Yes and no. I decided to stay until you stopped grieving. I didn’t care even if it did took years until Robin returned to us. You needed it.”

He grew ashamed at her words and at his lack of control over his own emotions. As the ruler of Ylisse, he had a certain degree of nobility to uphold in his mannerisms, even if the family was all in all, as informal as a bunch of dignified rabble. Emmeryn's legacy deserved that at least, and it should not a man with a broken heart torn apart by grief.

If she had caught on despite him being confident he had his emotions under control, then none of those years bode well.

Gods, he feels miserable. None of this should have happened. If he hadn’t been pushed into a marriage by the council while he was in a vulnerable mental state after his sister’s death, then all of this could have been averted. But…

His stars. His precious girls. Lucina wouldn’t be here either. Neither would Cynthia.  

And for all it’s worth, his wife had been the most wonderful and patient woman. She shouldn't have to put up with a husband who couldn’t love her the way she deserved.

Chrom’s hands gripped so hard he felt his knuckles at the verge of popping out of his skin. He swallowed. “But Lucina. You cannot think of me and approve of that. This would tear our family apart. It would hurt Ylisse. This is outrageous.”

“Is that what you think?” The woman asked, genuinely curious. “Even if Mother had made her peace with it?”

“Yes.” He was too aware of how miserable he sounded. “Yes. this is a bad idea. You shouldn’t have granted me the chance to entertain the notion. Ylisse would scorn my actions. What can possibly be more important to any child than a family?”

When he had been younger, he often dreamt of times when he, Emm and Liz would all be sitting on the same table with their parents. As long as they were together, all would be right. It was how things are supposed to be in any family.

Parents, children, family, happiness. That was the formula. Even if he could no longer feel that surge of giddiness around his wife, it wouldn’t change a thing. Not a thing. Not for his daughter.

“When Cynthia and I begun to rebuild Ylisse upon the past, we realized you and mother never smiled around each other,” she stated.

The tone wasn’t meant to hurt, but it did all the same.

Reality reconnected when a pair of arms warped around him. When had he drifted into his mind? Awkwardly, he bought his arms up, his senses gradually returning. It wasn’t the arms of a maiden princess warranting protection, but his daughter who had matured into a woman and perhaps, a proper queen.

Chrom gasped at the contact. It held him. It was reassuring in a way he thought he needed. Lucina knew all the while how much he had struggled. She had been an observer for the longest time.

“You know, Mother decided she would punch you in the face first before she let go.”

He can’t help but choke out a chuckle, and returned the hug stiffly. He would deserve that.

Slowly, the arms around him loosened and Lucina returned him his space, but her arm stayed on his shoulder.

“I think seeing my parents smile, even if it meant never sharing the same family dining table, is far more important.”

Never had Chrom felt a greater urge to cry from relief.

* * *

 

As much as Grima was now intrigued by this newfound knowledge of a cult forming in the repulsive dwellings down below, it didn’t concern him enough to descend upon them and cull their numbers. It wasn’t him whom was being begged for a miracle and thus he cannot find it within himself to be bothered, even if irritation took hold of him.

He could be sent back for all he knows if he lashed out anyway, and then this peace would stop.

Grima is a true God, not the other. Death was the dominion assigned to him, something far more sinister than simple victory or the pure whiteness that Kiran wore on a daily basis. It irritated him, knowing that it was so fake that it could only be taken as an insult to the one being worshiped.

“If only the good little Summoner would simply call for my help... I would eat them all up,“ he mused, grinning.

A voice arguing otherwise in his own prison caused him to pause and scoff.

“Silence. I don’t need you to influence my thoughts. I’ll throw you deeper into your prison. Don’t tempt me.”

Meandering around the less traversed corners of the towers, he attempted to glean more information out of the gossips bouncing off the walls from every which way, if only to kill time. His room was getting much too small with the absence of that insect’s pestering and offerings. The castle was large and therefore full of servants whose gossips would be easily picked up by his sharp ears.

Despite the gag order issued by the Askrian royalties, these servants predictably talked anyway.

Scraps of how the group built an image of their deity from Breidablik’s existence and a prophecy entered his ears. It was born from a baffling mix. The prophecy based was one so old that only humans with their wildest imagination run amok would try to make some sense out of it, only informing the arrival of a great hero, and not much else. Then there was the discussion that if Kiran’s gender could not be determined, they must be therefore some kind of supernatural being.

While the basis did fit, Kiran, a supernatural being, did not.

Were these worms desperate, or just simple?

The skies above was suddenly aglow with a blue hue, and he looked up to see two beams of light splitting the grey heavens above Askr. The Fell Dragon clicked his tongue

“What an absolute waste,” the Fell Dragon grumbled to no one. “Why won’t they keep what they’ve rightfully earned?”

There are now less of these so called heroes than when he had first arrived wandering about. Grima cannot understand why Kiran would simply let precious pieces go. It didn’t make sense. The precious resources expended to conduct the rite and then to dismiss them are so incredibly disadvantageous.

He doesn’t know long had passed, only that his ears eventually caught a sound drifting in the wind. A mumble from a distance away, from down the corridor and from the castle gardens.  
  
“Was there anything more I could do?”

It’s a voice he’d heard in this realm only once. It was such an odd voice that Grima cannot help but approach, passively observing the Summoner from a distance away.

As usual, Kiran was essentially white and gold. A left hand ran under the rim of their hood and ruffled their hair into a mess, frustration radiating despite the distance.. Their right was freshly bandaged and still hanging from a sling, reminding Grima why he had been so riled up the night before.

“I should have discussed it with Roy. I’m so...”

A rumble of thunder cut into their mumbling, scrambling any sense behind the voices Kiran had been making. Grima frowned at the sky. He had heard from somewhere that a sudden chill renders the human body susceptible to illness, doubly so for rain.

For all Grima knows, the damage of rain could overwrite any potential recovery of their injury. He would be left with a corpse under his spell before long.

Completely oblivious to the weather, Kiran stood up with a determined fist pump to motivate themself, before dropping abruptly back to the bench with their face buried in their only functioning hand. They pinched the bridge of their nose with a pained expression.

Evidence was painting them an ill human.

What exactly was Grima to do here? Grima drags his sight across his surroundings. Not even the royalties of this castle was around to protect their most prized piece. Ridiculous. Was he meant to come and drag this fool back indoors?

The sky rumbled again. Grima stomped his foot in frustration, unintentionally.

“Worm. You fall ill if you continue sitting there like a fool,” he boomed as he approached, steps heavy and precise.

The Summoner whipped around in shock to catch the sight of him approaching, their jaw slightly ajar. A stiff nod greeted Grima in that usual, wordless demeanor, evidently startled by the loud voice. On a closer inspection, the Summoner looked a little pale though not enough to mistake them for the dead.

Grima attempted not to snarl. He failed.

When it seemed apparent that Kiran knew they weren’t in for an earful, Grima let out an air he didn’t know he was holding, diffusing some lingering tension. “What. Are you doing?”

The Summoner simply tapped their head. _Thinking_ , the motion signified. That finger travels to point at him instead, returning the question.

“I am allowed to go anywhere I please.”

Grima is close enough that, with another step, he could drag the other away into the safety of shelter by their good arm. But Grima was a creature of formidable might regardless of how frail his current vessel was. A mere grip of his infinite might hurt the Summoner beyond all fixing. He folded his arms, keeping them to himself.

“It’ll pour,” Grima commanded with certainty. “Go indoors.”

The worm lets a huff out before standing to their full height slowly and steadily. Their face is one of bewilderment at the order, puzzled without the usual awe and all too confused at the way Grima was treating them.

It doesn’t take long and Grima has enough patience right now to entertain the slow rising, so he makes sure the Summoner is fully able and ready before leading them back into the castle, away from the open air. As soon as they do, the sky lets loose all the weight it’s been holding, flushing the grounds below with spring rain.

The soft gasp could have been amusing, but he could not bring himself to even grin.

“You could have fallen to mere **_cold_** ,” he seethed, the emotion boiling over to taint his words and twisting his vessel’s face into a demonic frown. “How daft are you?!” Grima hadn’t intended to threaten, and the tone surprised even himself.

Kiran flinched. For the first time, there was a brief flash of fear.

For some odd reason, that reaction didn’t elicit any sort of joy Grima had been expecting for a long time coming. In fact, it was the opposite; a frustrating sort of irritation whose source was out of his hands and control.

Wasting no time, the Summoner hastily rummaged through their own cloak in a flurry.

“That notebook again?” he spat. “”Hah, like you can write with your left arm.”

They paused, hesitant. Whatever written with their non-dominant hand would be nothing more than illegible chicken scratches. Grima is right to laugh off the notion.

For a moment, it seemed as though they would simply end their meeting here and go about thier own ways, but Kiran’s throat bobbed. Their mouth opened, shut, and opened in a cycle. And with a inhale, it opened again, their heart thumping madly with a chill.

“S... orry.”

So soft was the noise uttered that it could have been lost to the pelting of rain a few arms away, but Grima caught it nonetheless.

It was a strange, pathetic mumbling.

It was meant for him.

It was downright uncanny to hear.

If the unappetizing package of guilt and anxiety wasn’t enough, now there was a heapful of uncontrollable panic, confusion, and more importantly, fear. Grima waited with disdain, processing this new behaviour.

Kiran attempted to calm their haywire nerves, but that did very little to dissipate the heavy stillness in the air. Deep breaths were drawn in huffs, before the courage to do whatever it was that mind of theirs was thinking materialized.

“...Cold?” They mumbled.

Grima shut his eyes. “You don’t have to speak if you don’t want to. But...Yes,” The Fell Dragon says with a roll of eyes, all malice absent in its tone. He dropped his shoulders. “It is raining. In spring. I can feel cold, though it wouldn’t matter much if it snowed.”

Kiran tilted their head to the side with a frown, not getting the picture.

“This vessel of mine is no more than a corpse. He perished when I was beckoned in here through a rite in the midst of a… struggle. At the hands of his dearest, no less.“

That brought up more questions than Kiran asked for.

“Naga’s spawn. Him and that damned Falchion.” Grima replied to the knotted eyebrows, uncaring if it made sense to the Summoner. As a matter of fact, it wouldn’t change much if a mute Summoner knew it was that exalt who tore a hole through his chest in a final, futile retaliation. Death had already come when the Fire Emblem was delivered to the Dragon’s Table.

Kiran’s lips circles into an ‘o’, a hand resting under their chin, as if pieces were falling into place.

It’s a mystery how much Kiran actually knows.

Clapping their hands, Kiran beams. The direction of their finger pointed to a room just behind Grima with generously large windows facing towards the garden, and Grima knows by now fully what that meant.

Grima followed silently behind.

And, at the entrance, he sees it. An effort to accomodate to the Fell Dragon’s comfort. Kiran wastes no time to go down on their knees to light the fireplace, struggling with their only left hand. Certainly determined, this one.

A wall connects with his back as the combed through the room visually. A reasonably large sized table sits in the middle of the room accompanied by chairs, and a shelf with board games stood at a corner, and most impressive of all was the seats backed to the grand windows he saw on his way back under shelter. It’s a leisure room.

Grima crossed his arms. “Do you know of the worms worshipping you down in the city?”

Kiran hummed neutrally as they shrugged while they busied themself with the fireplace. Then, success. The room grew warmer. A metal poker jabs a the burning logs cheerfully, adding intensity to the crackling of the flames.

“I have seen the way you treat the worms you summon. To take away their will and their freedom is so simple, yet you refrain from doing precisely that. Why?”

Kiran slowly stood up, one hand on the mantle to stabilize themself. They shook their head with a tongue stuck out in mock disgust.

“Hpmh. You are odd, not to use the power which is rightfully yours.”

Their functioning arm jabs a fist on their hips with a shrug and a wave, wholly uninterested in such actions.

“Those worms below would be crushed if they knew their God was so… weak.”

They turned around mumbling softly. “...I never asked to be one.”

Silence robbed him of a reply. Grima never asked to be a god either.

The Summoner moves to the seat by the grand windows, busily pushing away the cushions to make space for themselves, and then one more spot next to that. Exasperation came to the Fell Dragon when that left hand patted one seat, unusually lethargic but still gleefully expectant.

He knew that look well.

“I fail to see what I will gain from accompanying you in this.”

Kiran’s glee evaporated.

“...Fine.” He sighed. The room was pleasantly warm, and the seat was soft. When he looked outside, he noticed the way the flames would dance in the raindrops that mirrored the room. This was… certainly a first.

Kiran snickered softly as they hugged a cushion right next to them, happy for a companion.

The sight before Grima struck a brief thought within him. This must be what Kiran would usually do if it weren’t for the current state of affairs. Not running around for strategy meetings, not checking on their heroes, not having maps and books tucked under their arms even during breaks. Despite the lack of glow, their alertness felt more precise and relaxed, much more natural than the days after nights holed up in the library.

He never cared for any mortal, nor even the vessel he owned, but this one’s behaviour unnerved the Fell Dragon to no end.

With a glare and teeth bared, a question was begging to be asked. “...What are you even here for?”

Lips pressed and nibbled from inside, their expression was completely obstructed by the hood. No attempt was made to drag a notebook off their own body. Softly, unsure, they spoke. “Help Askr. Clear the game.”

“A game. I’d never thought the good little Summoner would think of war and death as a game. How unexpected.”

Grima narrowed his eyes when Kiran abruptly laughed.  “Not that.” Kiran said just above a whisper. “...This reality. This whole…”

They sighed, shaking their head, the exact message lost behind a blockade.

“Why do you stop?”

“Why does a God care?” Their confidence in conversing was growing.

Why… indeed.

“All human lives are destined to end all while living selfishly for their own ugly gains and their own twisted ideologies. You will be no different.” he deflected. “I am only waiting for yours.”

Grima is aware of the many instances he had elaborated on his perspective, but Kiran, as usual, did nothing to argue or persuade. It’s quiet again when Kiran nodded and went back to watching the rain outside of the window, the soft crackling of fire filling the silent room.  

Absentmindedly, the Fell Dragon’s gaze went to that bandaged arm. The images that night at the portals ran through him, along with all the times he’d seen Kiran wandering around at ungodly hours of the night, and all the exhaustion that always made their way through the cracks. And these cracks were similiar to the cracks he'd seen in his worshippers, and Kiran had many of these - numerous and wide. 

Kiran will drive themselves to an early grave, Grima realized, and then he would have to play puppeteer to someone who was so unbothered by his nature and expected nothing from him.

“Although... I do think it would a waste if you expired before your due time,” he slowly admitted.

When he turned to observe Kiran, he caught it. Kiran’s soft smile was warm. Precious, not cold, not dead like the army of corpses waiting back home. Not like the most precious piece he reanimated from the remains of his vessal's dearest. 

“...You’re strange,” said the odd one.

His insides tickled.

Rain drawing his attention, Grima returns to watching the rain, while Kiran pulled out a book from within their cloak before long, the inner workings of their mind turning a different way again.

It’s all too dreadfully peaceful, that it was precious, even. It warrants protection.

The peace lasted all the way up until that Prince came jogging to fetch his precious tactician and did a double take.

* * *

 

Three sets of footsteps echoed. One of the prince, the other of Askr’s great savoir, and one of the Fell Dragon. Why was the last one following, Alfonse had no idea. But since Kiran didn’t protest, there wasn’t a problem. Except...

“Is it alright to talk about _that_?”

Kiran threw a look at Grima before they nodded and gave a go ahead sign.

Restraining a confused groan, Alfonse reminded himself he was supposed to be used to Kiran’s antics, even if it meant befriending a dragon god of death and destruction. He coughed into his hand. Where to even begin...

“...The ‘priest’ is a conman, essentially.” Alfonse begins. “An artist by the name of Hansen came to us, accusing the leader to have commissioned a statue but never received money for his work. We have his identity and his residence but not where he keeps the proceeds of the tithe from the misled faithful.” Alfonse sighed. ”This ‘priest’ goes by the name of Norman. I’m so sorry about this, truly.”

“Typical worms,” Grima commented. Alfonse remembers Kiran telling him about some cult in the world of Awakening gone out of hand. He wondered if this whole scenario hit closer to home for the Fell Dragon.

Kiran shook their head reassuringly. It’s not Alfonse’s fault people decided to run around and start constructing a nonsensical idea of their grand saviour who never spoke to the populace. Not that the Prince would ever allow Kiran to run around outside anyhow. It’s too dangerous.  

“Perhaps if we had never neglected the citizens or addressed their worries... Perhaps if we had you make an appearance from time to time to the crowd, they wouldn’t paint you a deity.”

Kiran smiled and shrugged. Their nonchalant attitude was always reliable, never faltering once in times of stress. Then again, they were undeniably Askr’s saviour summoned from that relic, and also Alfonse’s greatest friend. It’s an incredible miracle that he was even allowed have them join his army.

A pat was on his shoulder, and inquisitive eyes found his. He didn’t mean to get so lost in his own thoughts.

“Oh, no. I just genuinely don’t understand how you can be so calm about all this. I’m amazed you’re not in the least bit disturbed about this whole affair.”

Even Alfonse would flip a table if he had been subjected to such brazen nonsense.

Kiran offered Alfonse their most sour, upset expression. It’s impressively scrunched, as if they’d just licked a lemon. It’s just the right level of exaggeration and ridiculous that he had to burst out laughing.

“Oh, sure, sure. I’ll buy that.” Alfonse chuckled. “But we still haven’t decided what we will do if we should apprehend him. The citizens image of you will be affected, and we can’t quite afford that unrest right now… What a headache.”

Kiran’s finger curled under their chin. They were thinking, searching for a solution out of this mess in no doubt the most peaceful way possible.

Grima listened and thought the solution to be dreadfully simple. “Simply kill him. Send one of those worms you’ve summoned. The dead cannot speak.”

Kiran’s eyebrows knotted, throwing an exasperated look at the Fell Dragon. “That’s no better.”

He’s in full agreement, while Grima rolled his eyes, deciding to wash his hands of the subject. Persuading the faithful had never been a topic Alfonse had considered seriously, and now the gap of experience has come to torment him. Too green in and out of combat, even if he was one of the few to hold great authority in this realm. That’s no better indeed.

Wait, hold on.

Alfonse’s feet nearly tripped on thin air when he suddenly realized Kiran spoke. The black and purple that was Grima was still there, quiet and oppressive.

"What if I went down there myself?” They suggested, breaking the notion it was any hallucination.

“N-no way,” Alfonse covered his mouth.

Sorely missing the point, Alfonse was suddenly besieged with betrayed anger from the usually docile tactician. “I’ll ask some heroes to go with me.”

Alfonse replied with dead silence.

The Summoner was left with little choice but to pout.

No way. No way. He turned a corner, almost bumping into someone. But he couldn’t care.

Above all that denial, Alfonse feels amazingly happy enough to break into a run. Not that he would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how the hell is this work gaining traction??


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY FOR THE DELAY pls enjoy this beeefy af chapter. also apologies in advance for certain scenes and any writing errors that escaped me waaaaa

With all the lessons Kiran has been drilling his face into every other day, Alfonse still often finds himself stumbling over strategies like an infant. It wouldn’t be difficult for his friend to solve under half his time and a handwave, and for that he was incredibly jealous for the level of expertise he himself lacked.

Which was why he was half fuming at the reports and map spread in front of him, held back only by discipline for betterment not to let Kiran touch his share of the work. Alfonse could grit his teeth all day and measure himself to be a half of his friend’s capability over strategies. He was getting better though perhaps not with the aptitude he wished so dearly he had.

And to think, the Great Hero claimed they were a mere civilian until their arrival here.

A palm lands on the desk with barely a sound, causing eyes to look up. Despite being a competent fighter, Alfonse jumps in his seat and meets the eye of his tactician.

Or his… other half, as Chrom puts it. His other, still-injured half. That arm was getting better, but moving a finger was still not preferable.  That was still saying nothing for the amount of blood spilled before a hasty tourniquet was applied. Alfonse still regrets not being good enough, even now.

“Something is wrong.” Alfonse decodes.

Kiran’s lips were upturned, troubled and wrinkled by an problem they couldn’t quite grasp where to even begin.

Before he is able to riddle out the issue, a report lands on his desk. Collecting it, he skims through what immediately strikes as commander Anna’s writing. Passed over in person, he supposed.

Kiran removed their cloak and drapes it over their seat, closing their eyes to get some semblance of peace. It causes Alfonse to cock an eyebrow at such an unusual behaviour.

“Hmm… Found the proceeds in full, however… Therefore... Oh dear.”

His tactician waits patiently as he wraps his mind around the content.

Fraud was the least of their worries. Radical ideology, the idea that Kiran was effectively a prisoner puppet being kept within the confines of the castle, unable to step even a foot outside to the city was beginning to spread. Worse still, now there was claims that Kiran was somehow speaking to a few of them in their sleep, pleading to be freed from the stone prison.

Alfonse would chuck this in the direction of his Father’s face the first chance he gets. Whatever happened his promise of keeping watch on the populace?

The Summoned tactician was his responsibility, sure, and he was far more comfortable with commanding the troops than to steer the people of kingdom. Alfonse sets down the paper along with his heart chilling with terror. He hadn’t the experience to handle all of this like his Father. Far from it. This war is going far longer than anticipated, and it’s gradually swallowing up the Kingdom’s entire focus.

“How has it come to this?”

Kiran hung their head and nodded, their right arm still hung in the sling. It wasn’t gravity, but guilt that weighed them down.

“Don’t ever believe you’re a liability, please.”

Kiran shakes their head in disagreement, out of sight. It’s a statement that has been repeated many times to only fall on deaf ears even after a whole year, but never has Kiran thought otherwise. Even if they were a hero of some prophecy, it’d never truly sunk in for them. Kiran would always say it’s their job, and say nothing further on the matter.

He lifts the stack of paper he had previously been working on and tosses it aside to put on hold.

Alfonse begins reshuffling his priority. He would have to speak with his Father and begin the ban of the worship, and urge the arrest the priest before the situation got worse. The council must be gathered into a meeting first thing tomorrow morning for new worship laws, and then finalizing the minor pile of strategies he has to put into place soon, and then-

He hadn’t noticed the way Kiran had their hand balled under their chin in the flurry of panic he’d been swimming in.

“...Proposal.” The voice almost escapes his ears. “You can parade me if needed. Create an image for your people.”

The strained look on Kiran screamed unwillingness at the whole situation, that they would rather stay a recluse and not be subjected to the thunderous roar of the crowd waiting for them outside.

Alfonse bit his lip for the off-hand comment he made regarding parading them around.

“H-...hold on. What you are suggesting is to disregard one of the very first agreements we made- to not glorify your presence. It’s the reason we’ve kept you away. Are you certain about what you’ve just said?”

Despite all of that, they nodded, and spoke evenly. “If they start raising swords for a misguided coup, it’s game over.”

Alfonse buckled down and turned that statement a few times within his head. “Fair point. But you have something else on your mind, don’t you?”

“...?”

“You often do this when you think deep.” Alfonse curls his fist and copies Kiran by placing it under his own chin. “Too deep. So, what other plan have you been brewing?”

Kiran eases the room with a chuckle and nodded. “Using me a bait to smoke out those worshippers. But, I don’t know if it’ll escalate that far. I only know how to strategize for battles, not people.”

“Not a bad plan as a basis. This shouldn’t have spiralled out of control this quickly either.” Alfonse feels oddly reassured at Kiran’s surprising bravery to put themselves out there. The denizens of the castle do not nickname them ‘The Recluse’ without reason. City? Kiran has never been there! “In any case, I should probably speak to the council if we are to resolve this matter as soon as possible. We have enough evidence to arrest this conman now.”

Kiran bursts with relief at that.

“Just leave this to me.” Alfonse says, determination punctured behind each syllable. “I do wish these stacks of work would just complete itself.”

Kiran whips up their feet and stumps over to a shelf containing the maps of the realm, and laid it out on their own desk. One peek over to Alfonse’s table, and stared at the workload they weren’t allowed to touch.

“Then go prep. I’ll handle this.”

“Your lips are still pale, you know. You ought to rest when people persuade you to do so.”

They poked their lips and decided there wasn’t much to do about it. A quick skim later and a humming begins, as if Kiran was starting to do their very elaborate cakewalk on a forbidden task. “Tell your parents I said hi.”

Alfonse thinks they should have just went and greeted his parents themselves, even if they did fear the lack of court manners could amount to insult. It wasn’t a totally silly concern.

“Don’t let me carry you off to bed over such a small stack of reports. You still have to thank Chrom for that other night.”

They shrug off that statement with a grin, taunting for such a event to repeat itself. Their fingers pluck away at the ear of the papers, eyes twinkling at the prospect of developing a strategy to pass the time.

It does, however, take only a series of pounding on the door to knock the rising gusto of having something simple to stimulate their brain completely out of Kiran’s expression.

“Sirs! Reporting!”

* * *

“He is not you.”

It started off simple and routine, their daily walks and training within the walls of the castle. Yet Robin hadn't been expecting that he would be meeting meeting eyes of fear that evaporated in a split second once the servant realized he wasn't Grima.

It bugged him. More than he would be able to express his swelling unease. It was only with the weight of Chrom’s hand on his shoulders that he found a support forever reassuring.

“In the way that you are your ownself, and never will be him. Different existence, he claimed. Ran into him in the middle of the night some time ago, though not by choice. So please rest easy.”

“I see.” Robin breathed. “That’s… that’s good to hear.”

Chrom’s decision to omit out how their hearts were inexorably linked was a conscious decision to spare Robin the additional worry he would surely find himself in. No use digging up one mound of information only to then set on making a grave. Robin didn’t need this extra serving of wretchedness that was Grima’s inherent nature.

“And so.. Is it correct for me to assume that my king found himself little rest the night before I beat his leg black and blue?”

Chrom’s eyebrow arched. “...That is correct, and was painful, my ever invaluable advisor.”

Robin’s shoulders dropped as he let out a air. It felt terrible to know that Chrom had been burdened because of him. “You could have told me.”

“Had I made my words known, you would have lost sleep for the next couple nights.”

“And you wouldn’t? Really, Chrom. I can take a lot more than that. We’ve went through more than that. I am not glass, or some hapless maiden.”

Yes, Robin was a tactician with a lightning fast, flexible wit for strategy, and his features were easy on the eyes, but he was most definitely not the fairer sex, a maiden, or glass. Not glass, but not unworthy of protection. Yet not fragile to break at knowing hard truths. It’s often difficult to gauge where threshold is.

“I feared you might react negatively. It was… too soon.”

Robin turned, attention at the walls. “Sorry. You meant well.”

The air turned tense, but without electricity or the searing heat. A certain quality of lingered persistently between the two, as if a few pages of words had to be forcibly omitted.

“I suppose then when I bruised you by accident, it was in truth the inevitable will of the universe,” Robin said softly, attempting to lift the mood.

“Well, the universe is mean.”

“It is.” Robin agreed.

“There you are!”

Chrom turns around in the direction of that familiar voice to find Alfonse barreling down towards the two of them.  
  
“Prince!” Chrom erupted from surprise at the sight of the Prince barely holding himself up in a dignified pose, a flair of desperation surrounding his figure. “You’re… a sight.”

“Oh, good that I’ve finally found you Robin. And you, Chrom, just as well. I have need of both your assistance. Gods, it’s an emergency.”

Chrom and Robin immediately snap into alertness. The urgentness was not unfamiliar to the two of them.

“Where are we needed?”

“By the Summoner’s side. I-it’s another battle. Gods, curse this unfavourable timing.”

“Now?! But your tactician is hardly back at full strength.”

“Yes, there is not a chance Kiran can handle it by themself. I know, and I need men ever closer by their side in my place.” Alfonse fought to keep their grimace at bay. “Your tactical prowess, especially, is needed, Robin. Please, if you find that Kiran requires aid, would you kindly please take over? Forcefully, if it must be done.”

Robin raises an eyebrow at Chrom, but nevertheless agreed readily. He swallowed the odd comment in lieu of the rational one. “Of course. I shall render my aid however I am able.”

Chrom could sense his tactician’s eagerness to jump at the call for strategizing, like an itch waiting to be scratched. Tactics was, after all, the one definite domain no man Chrom knew could best Robin in.

“What calls you?” Asked the exalt.

Alfonse replied in the tone of a defeated warrior, all pain and no pride. “Council meetings on some… sensitive matter. I’d stay with Kiran but they insisted otherwise.”

“Of course.” Chrom said, emphasizing. “We shall return before long in one piece.”

“Thank you both. If they are hurt again, I’d… No, I think you two would be more than up to the task. More so than I. Please take care of my friend.”

“Understood,” said both Chrom and Robin in unison.

With a click of his heels and a formal bow, Alfonse left just as quickly as he came.

Still, what could have possibly cause the Prince to leave his tactician’s side? As far as Chrom had seen and knew, the two were often together, almost as if they were joined at the hips during the battlefield. Outside? Not so much perhaps, but there was a reason why the heroes often spoke of the Prince as Kiran’s mouthpiece.

He looked to Robin, jogging steadfast at his side.

“He resembled the old you.”

The exalt blinks. “Hm?”

“Constantly torn between one important duties too many. Not a position I fancy.”

“Hah, I still am. You coming back just helped everything. I still shirk my duties.”  
  
“Really now? I’ve noticed you’re rather good at handling meetings and Kingly duties, on top of your and family after my return. If anything, you’re stellar. It's like watching you in a new light.”

Chrom felt a rock striking his heart. He couldn’t tell Robin he’d been neglecting his wife, or that they’d split up their bedrooms sometime ago. That he’s an unfaithful husband. Not now.

Argh.

“All I do in Ylisse is bandit hunting,” Robin complained, boots tapping down the hallway, running in unison. "Rather dull."

“Is that a plea for more responsibilities I hear?”

“...Mayhaps.”

When they eventually reached the portals, they were met with an small army consisting of 3 squads’ worth and…

Just standing before an exasperated looking white cloaked individual, was an exact copy of the man beside him.

“Grima,” The name escapes with disbelief, and he shifts one step to allow Robin to use him as a intermediary shield by instinct.

The day of Robin’s disappearance still haunts the edge of his mind.

 _We are not the same existence, dear_ **_Chrom_ ** _._

That voice dripping with a sultry uncanniness fogged in at the back of his mind, and suddenly, Chrom felt as if his skin was not his own, all thanks to the foreign entity before him.

No… perhaps not all that foreign. Every single person in this castle has gotten a little too familiar with the Fell Dragon and his presence. Grima was now part of them.

“You’re not leaving without me,” said Grima.

Kiran shook their head furiously, and frowned. And to his surprise in his most turbulent moment, Chrom noticed Kiran was mouthing a few words, barely above a whisper. The circle of heroes gathered only make it as though Kiran and Grima was in a play absent of a stage, the distance as wide as the wisdom not to get entangled between the two of them.

“These worms are incompetent, you utter fool!”

The booming voice shook Chrom and Robin to their core, rocking the sense of focus they’d always expect before setting out on a mission. Spiritually, it was having never seen such a vulgar expression on the Summoner’s face from where they stood that truly hit them like an arrow from the blue. Yet as soon as it even registered in both minds that such an expression emerged, it was gone.

They exchanged glances, with no one else catching on to that expression covered mostly by the veil of gold and wide over their head.

Calmer than the still waters. Unassuming. Never succumbing to rage and emotions. Kiran was all of that with the exception of this momentary crack.

Deflating their shoulders, Kiran shrugged their left arm and turned away with a resigned nod. It was clear to anyone that not even the Summoner dared to go toe to toe against a Fell Dragon.

“Hmph!”

No one is sure if they ever wanted to see either one of them so worked up. Both, equally. The embodiment of doom was one thing, but the one who would be handling the fine line between life and death on the battlefield was equally not an entity to be disturbed for no good reason.

Kiran came face to face with Hector and signalled that he was now officially let off the expedition. The taller man could only let out a grumble of disappointment and how his Armads wasn’t going to see some action soon, and dejectedly left, but not before yelling out, “You owe me a drink! Geez, it’s even more of a bore now without Eliwood around!”

An lusterless thumbs up was given in reply, and a bow. Hector took it as an invitation to press down on that white head, ruffling it as roughly as he could.

“Yeah, kid! Go come back in one piece!”

The Summoner pats the large hand off, and the bigger man leaves.

Kiran’s adjustment of their clipboard soon enough shot their line of sight towards Chrom and Robin. They pinched the bridge of their temples so hard that it might induce an aneurysm. Or so they would hope, in any case. The clipboard in their hands would have broke if their glare would induce daggers, but alas it was handed over to Commander Anna with a whisper.

It wasn’t after the team assignment had been announced that Chrom and Robin knew the reason why Kiran had been twisting within their boots like a rope tangled and knotted in a heap of itself.

* * *

Before the sparks of a Thoron could even take form, Grima wipes their enemies in a singular breath, his serpentine body hovering above them. His lightning still streaked without purpose, straying into a tree and slamming into it with a fizzle. He straightens up and fires another one behind him into a body to the side, its  face too brief to etch in his mind, before running to catch up to cover Chrom’s blindside.

Chrom returned the favour and covered his tactician’s. There wasn’t a chink in their formation to be found.

The fourth member of their squad was Priscilla, sending as much recovery magic as needed on her horseback. Kiran was on their own horse, eyes of icy steel that sent shivers down a lesser men’s spine, with a clear mind of absolute focus.

Somewhere along the line, they’d discarded the sling a while before deciding to mount. A move bound to attract the yelling of physicians in all corners of the castle, but there was a war to fight and a horse to ride. They downed some painkillers before hopping on.

None of them were sure if Grima or Kiran was leading the charge. Chrom realized it mattered little, since progress was made.

They must have been breezing through dozens of battles already- Robin was losing track- and in the infrequent occasions when Grima’s breath failed to wipe the battlefield empty, Chrom and Robin proved more than ample for the clean-up duty.

“Aren’t we proceeding rather fast?” Chrom grunts as he struck his Falchion into a Manakete. “It’s like we’re-” another individual falls, “blazing-” and a block, “through this!”

“Focus, Chrom! Follow Kiran’s orders!”

Kiran signed for a change of formation, and the group moved accordingly. Another group of opposing heroes fall and fades from the rush, and another scenery -a distortion- unpacked with their advancement. The hastier they felled each set of opposition, the stronger the enemies pushed back against them.

For once, Naga forgive, were both of them glad that Grima was on the same side as them. Chrom thought it’d been possibly the worst plan what with the friction, but when everyone was busy focusing on slinging magic and blades without pause there isn’t even a second to banter.

The orders kept coming. A palm, stop. Three fingers, forwards. A circular motion, circle the enemy. And to their far sides, the other squads kept up.

Grima, for his part, didn’t seem to care if Kiran was orchestrating the teams for support or two sets of solo.

“Left!” Robin repeated Kiran’s hand signal, and the formation banked as they pushed forwards evermore. It was a blitz unlike anything Chrom or Robin has ever seen, or attempted. Everyone kept up with the pace. It wasn’t as if the Summoner was asking for the impossible, although Grima was proving himself to be quite the weapon of mass destruction.

A lightning bolt, a magic blow, a Falchion swung and a blanket of death from above descended, smothering their opposition.

The breath of ruin indeed.

Occasionally Grima would abruptly dip and pick their enemies into its mouth. The dragon still fought like a violent man-eating beast. Both Chrom and Robin could feel the hatred Grima had for the humans with each movement of his serpentine body, each flap of his wings, and each blink of those six eyes.

He was still a creature that wouldn’t look out of place in hell.

Inevitably did the time came when their overall stamina was waning, and Kiran’s strategizing was beginning degrade at the edges with dull sloppy trivial mistakes as the hours dragged on.

The momentum dropped in drips barely noticeable until he felt Grima’s six watchful eyes upon him. Upon them. The Dragon had switched from eradication to observation.

Kiran sounds out a horn, and only then did the small army gathered up.

“We’re heading towards that river.” Robin noted.

It was time to rest.

From Chrom’s own perspective, the Summoner didn’t need babysitting. Alfonse’s request was a little ridiculous, if he had to be honest. The tactician of Askr was a fine, sharp, composed individual worthy of admiration.

Or perhaps not entirely.

Because the moment Kiran climbed off the horse, their knees offered none of the support expected as they buckled down on the dirt, exhausted with cold sweat. 

The dragon above them scoffed, his prediction casted before entry into this dimension. With a shimmer of mist Grima descended, presence domineering. 

“Are you alright!?” Robin burst, dominated by his instincts to take care of one of his own.

In a blur, they mumbled, but it wasn’t anywhere close to what to anyone could hear. A healing staff was by the ready in Priscilla’s hands, unsure how and where to hit her spell.

“I… I can’t hear you speak,” said Robin.

Weakly they attempted to speak, but nothing tangible could emerge. Giving up, Kiran bit their lips instead.

“ _I’m bad with horses_.” Grima spoke.

Eyes immediately started bulging out of their sockets around, until they realized the Fell Dragon was playing the role of relayer. “Rip your own tongue out if you are going to grovel on the dirt like a worm spit out your cheap lies. What a pathetic wretch. Get up.”

The Summoner smiled sheepishly. Worried faces were one too many, and none of them believed the lie that was told. Off in the distance, the others were catching up. Kiran slowly got up, and looked all of them in the eye with a finger to their lips.

_‘Don’t say a word about this.’_

Kiran can’t collapse now. There was a battle to fight. Their world to return to. And Grima is still dangerous.

Robin really hopes the whole lot of them don’t find their end in a heap of flesh and bones.

* * *

“Kiran has agreed to my stand-in for the time being.” Robin spoke, voice even as he enters back into the open warmth of the campfire. “We can expect our objective to be complete in the next 2 days. Tomorrow, even, if the winds of fortune favours us.”

“A short battle.”

“Let’s take joy in the fact that we aren’t as busy the the Summoner. I still cannot wait for tomorrow, it’s been a while.” Robin was almost besides himself.

“Happy, are we?” Chrom questioned. He couldn't keep his eyes off the purple shadow leaning against a tree in the cover of shadows.

“Elated! Chrom, you have no idea how much I adore this. Being on the battlefield, with you at my back, using all manners of strategy in that heat of the moment. It’s absolutely wonderful.” Robin sung. “Not that the Shepherds aren’t great. They are, but you’re not there.”

“I feel the same!” Chrom sips his water. “Remember what I said all those years ago about you being the wind at my back? I’ve missed this too, you know.”

“I’m sorry I left you all for 5 years.” Robin said as he settled down next to Chrom. “I don’t think I’ve ever apologized for that.”

“You’re back. That’s what matters. You did what you thought was best for everyone.”

This camp is not as noisy or close knit as the shepherds will be. Having taken the vanguard, their tents were just a little further out from the rest of the others. It’s just quieter, on the edge.

The days on campaigns were over. But being here like this, he feels so much younger. Being with Robin like this, his body hums with a certain type of peace. There aren’t anyone he knows to rag on him about spending time with his best friend.

Friend… Right.

Robin leaned backwards, staring up at the foreign starlit sky. “Never told anyone this, but I recall a void after Grima. Inside it, I remember thinking to myself, wondering if I should have come back.”

Chrom paused. Robin hasn’t said a word about his experience between Grima and returning at all to a soul. “...Why shouldn’t you?”

“The fear of being left behind.” Robins sighs, lost. “It’s difficult to catch up with everyone. One moment we’re together, and the next everyone’s scattered with their own life to live.”

It wasn’t an unfounded fear.

In a way, it had already manifested. Chrom is not blind; he sees it. How Tiki went back to her slumber before seeing her friend for the last time, how Tharja completely detached herself from her obsession, and how everyone seemed to forget the Tactician that appeared suddenly as if a celestial being dropped him from the sky. He knew the feeling of betrayal when some suggested for him to move on and forget about Robin.

Even he couldn’t deny that his life had begun a new uncertain chapter with his two daughters at his side, learning to read, write and fight. Most days he had hardly any time for himself anymore. A fact of life, as the saying goes.

Chrom was glad he cleared up that room on a whim in a daze on day. His sister could only describe it as a very deep, unbreakable funk of 5 years - murkier than the swamps, lighter than smoke.

“I thought I might have to finally find a trade when I came back.” Robin said. “Something specialized. Away from the castle, possibly. Yet you gave me a place to stay, as if I had never left your side at all.”

The ‘why’ that was begging to be let out never materialized.

“Everyone was urging me to move on, to focus on my kingly duties, but instead I went through the motions like a doll. But… But I’m glad I waited. I’m glad you’re back. I’m glad I cleared out that room for you.”

“I appreciate it. But Chrom, a distracted King with a young family to care for is hardly a recipe for a golden age.”

Chrom tenses. “The people haven’t been neglected. I’ve been blessed with excellent subjects to aid me. You, especially. Robin, your presence is one of the greatest support I could ever ask for.”

“I am your tactician. I cannot help you with many of your kingly duties.” Robin replied. “With my lack of experience in anything outside of war councils, I am less than a man with skill worth their wage in my position.”

“Your advice are always wise, and you are also my other half. That is more.”

Robin begins to frown a little at where the conversation is heading. “Ylisse is in peace.” Honey eyes peered into Chrom, but it’s as if they had found his heart, laid bare and confused. Robin drops his voice. “Rebuff me if I’m posing the wrong question but… You… understand your position, don’t you?”

“I do.” Chrom downs his water in a gulp. And he repeated to make the words more true. “I do, too well.”

Robin hugs his arms over his knees, heels digging into the dirt. There was a pause, and Robin doesn’t have the courage to look his other half in the eye.

Chrom could feel it within himself, a connection, a bond that shouldn’t have been made; they both knew.

Chrom feels fingers chill, then twitch with a loud pound from his chest. He swallowed even harder, as if he’s suddenly gagging on pebbles. “You’re important to me. In spite of everything. Please know this. All that is good and brave in me, it is from you, for you. ”

“Then for the sake of all things good, please proceed no further than how we are now.”

Chrom finds it difficult to accept. “If that is your advice. But your happiness. Robin, I-”

“No.”

Chrom wanted to yell how his feelings hadn't changed for the past 7 years, and that every little decision he had made felt like such a mistake. He gripped his fists, feeling for the first time since his childhood, how he felt so small in the grand scheme of things.

How was it that he struggled and did his best, but would never be free of the hound of regrets and shame?

Behind them was the approaching sound of heels crunching on dirt. Slow. Loud. Deliberate.

Seizing the cue to exit, Robin nodded and got up, dusting dirt off himself. He bit his lip, before settling for nothing. “Then we shall leave it at that. Good night, Chrom.”

The Summoner nodded in courtesy as Robin passed, off to turn in for the night.

Kiran has never really said much, but when they see Chrom's state, they grew concerned.

The silence that Chrom was putting up was rivaling the Summoner, and with little choice they understood where they had to be. Not here, not with their summoned hero.

The red glowing eyes in the distance caught their attention, and with a quick bow they skittered off.

* * *

Kiran approaches, pointing towards the spawn of Naga by the campfire.

“A quarrel. A confession. Humans are irrational creatures.” Grima stated. He had heard every word of it, but understood very little.

The Robin inside was oddly quiet, but he could feel the emotions twisting and swelling inside despite his best efforts to calm himself. The prison Grima had constructed was reinforced, but he had no desire to silence him. It was different from the despair of grief, a different type of pain.

“That spawn of Naga is betrothed to another, is he not?”

Kiran nodded as Grima eyes requested confirmation, though slowly. It’s a question they weren’t sure if Grima should ask, or if they should answer.

“Hmph.” Grima looked at the mop of blue, and felt the emotions writhing underneath despite the distance still. “What nonsense.”

Kiran knotted their eyebrow, trying to piece everything together. Suddenly, with a tilt of their head, and an idea popping out before it even registered as a blip in their tired head. One word was blurted out. “Adultery?”

Grima blinked, and growls with disgust. “...No. What sort of **_animal_ ** fornicates by the open fire?”

Kiran slaps their mouth, turning redder than the tomato that was tossed into their dinner pot. The cover of their hands spread to their entire face-not that there was much left to cover with the hood already in place, and whines with pain.

Someone ought to come over and inspect their head for any brain injuries. Or, he could give them one, right here, right now.

Grima huffed. “My servant declared marriage is a union of two devotees, with a strict vow of loyalty to each other for the sole purpose of producing offsprings. Yet I see a fool almost ruining himself. Your kind are incomprehensible.”

The Summoner shook their head, the red receding.

“Life is a lot more complex. It’s not just about producing offsprings. Marriage can be forced by others or turn out to be a dumb big life decision. Feelings can change. People can be stupid.”

They had a fear of speaking, with long gaps between each words.. This much smelled as certain as it was irritating. Grima snarls, almost.

“You speak much for once, but Validar’s- my priest’s- words are the truth of the Grimaleals.”

They were suddenly oddly quiet, until Grima tips his nose back inviting the potentially scathing comment.

Kiran swallowed, unsure if they liked this new development where Grima was unintentionally throwing the notion of respect down the dumps. It takes a while for courage to build, but the words come. “Yet his wife ran out on him.”

His eyes narrowed to slits. “Your knowledge is peculiar.”

Kiran looks apologetic, but doesn’t elaborate how and rolls the topic off. Yet again, Grima finds one more mystery to add to the pile.

Grima ponders on that statement. It was indeed fact that the mother of the flesh he’d been given had ran away from Plegia, from Validar. And it was also a fact that neither her nor the wife he’d been given were given a choice of their own in the matter. Both perished, but not from childbirth.

They were both murdered by Validar. His priest, his worshipper.

‘ _The priest is a conman, essentially.’_ Alfonse’s voice echoed from yesterday in his mind.

No, his priest wasn’t some third-rate worm out to swindle money from the populace. Their objective was to wipe the world out, not subjugate...

No, that isn’t quite right either. They may have stopped at total destruction of Ylisse, but that didn’t mean they kept some livestocks alive. They had subjugated Regna Ferox. They had subjugated Valm. All so that his worshippers will be richer for it as the livestocks worked the land.

_‘Gosh we don’t need to worship the Summoner to win the war.’_

Hm.

In himself, he feels a twinge of… something. From himself. He’s not sure what. But he does wonders if it’s time to finally choke the life out of his irritating pet.

Kiran observes the man for a little longer, body leaning towards in worry, as Chrom loses himself the flicker of the flames.

“Were they close, in your world?” They questioned.

Fingers twitched. They, not you. Not Robin, but himself.

Grima bristles with sense of pleasure much more akin to warmth than a cold thrill.

“That spawn was the only person this worthless frail vessel could trust after a lifetime of fleeing. So trusted, so loved, that he put aside his own incapabilities and worries. Even after knowing this vessal’s purpose of existence, the fool continued to trust in their worthless bonds and was rewarded with death. And now, _Robin_ is here.”

Kiran faces away and remained quiet as Grima directs his fingers to his own body, but their scent smelled of sorrow in the knowledge.

“You don’t seem surprised. I’ve expected this, but so be it.”

They rummage through their cloak, producing a jar of cookies, each piece covered in yellow icing and offering some to the Fell Dragon.

He frowns at the lopsided, fat cheeks of the caricature of a monster. It had a certain charm, as if it had been originally made cute enough that another person sitting on the dough would still not diminish its black beady stare. He squints at the mostly yellow cookie with rabbit ears.

“Pikachu.” They said pointing at the yellow monster cookie. “I asked the chef, but he messed up the design. It’s meant to be cuter.”

“Hm.” He eats one. It’s still delicious, but it lacked a certain touch, knowing it was not made by the individual before him. “You’ve made better.”

He finds it almost endearing when Kiran scratches it cheek and opts to bow in thanks before peeling away. Their gratitude was awkward, as if it was a random jab at an abstract. Nevertheless, was sincere and true. Kiran’s quality was so different from the pet he kept, who said many a things to inflate worthless concepts irrelevant to him.

“Wait.”

Feet stops at the command.

“Your arm, fool. Present it."

Kiran lifts up the sleeve to reveal stitches removed, a clean white streak in place. Topping the presentation off with a lame flourish, the sleeves soon returned to cover the scar.

Blood loss and flesh mending were two very different things. It’s a lesson he is slowly learning.

The Fell Dragon said nothing as they lingered a little longer, before turning. he gold designs of their cloak shimmers as Grima chomps on the cookie, watching as the mortal entered in the glow of the flames, offering the jar to the man on the ground.

Startled at the prospect of seeing a ghost, Chrom makes a loud noise and scares the living daylights out of both of them. But eventually Chrom does take one of the yellow thing and sniffs it before plopping it in his mouth.

It’s not a Risen behaviour, Grima thinks.

* * *

The next day dawns, and it’s a breeze.

Robin instructs the army as if it was _breathing._ Sharena, Anna, and Fjorm were allowed to command autonomously, while Chrom let go of his command and gave it straight to Robin.

He was majestic, like this. Beautiful, even. Issuing orders, observing weaknesses and then striking it dead in the core the instant an opening presented itself.

“Chrom, the mage!”

“On it!”

And despite everything, their bonds were still strong. Perhaps it’s the daylight sun that made everything brighter, and a little better. Even if there was a Fell Dragon selfishly blocking most of it.

Turns out, the main force had been taken down yesterday, and the ones today were more or less leftovers. Kiran was sticking close in the center of the squad, too aware that they were their most vulnerable piece. Still, they listened to the orders given, and was alright with the horse, despite their claims.

Whenever Chrom rode his horse, it’d just charge right up ahead at the enemy and taunt him for it. He wished he didn’t dislike horses, but everyone can’t possibly be choosers.

Chrom takes out the jar of cookies and takes out one of the disfigured yellow treat at the lack of enemies. He sends it outstretched on his right.

“Robin.”

“Hm? Oh, when did you get this?” Robin takes a bite out of it the moment it lands in his hand, raising an eyebrow at the design. “It’s good.”

“Kiran gave it to me. And you too, Lady Priscilla.”

She lits up immediately. “Oh! Why, thank... you?” The disfigured face very nearly scares her off, but she took a bite regardless.

Chrom is almost immediately besieged on both sides for cookies and he felt very much like a cookie King.

He looks upwards at the Fell Dragon and yelled, out of a mix of courtesy and stupidity. “Do you want some too?”

Grima’s six eyes descends to inspect the offering. Chrom and Robin’s blood runs cold, remembering that day on the back of Grima. Expecting to be hit with his breath, Grima instead huffs and returns upwards.

“Suppose not…”

Robin grimaces at his side.

Suddenly, with a glow and a mist, the dragon disappears. From the sky, the body of his vessel descends. It’s the first real interaction he’s had with Grima, that he very nearly loses his arm as Grima rips the cookie from his hand.

He attempts to act normal. They all do. Except for Kiran. Kiran found the sudden appearance of clouds passing above to be far more stimulating.

Robin raises an eyebrow, pausing for a moment. “What is this creature?”

Chrom wonders too, and briefly remembers one of the weird plush animals within Kiran’s room. It looked more round, full, and less… cross-eyed.

“Pikachu.” Grima responded in place of Kiran. “They’ll make better ones.”

All of them felt rather shaken that such a name was spoken by the Fell Dragon, but they swallow their bewilderment, lest they be skewered in some form. The sharp nails underneath that glove aren’t just for show.

Before long they finish their cookies, and Grima takes up to the skies again. Kiran droops a little at not being able to see the clouds anymore.

For once, there wasn’t a promise of a murder and a bloodbath, Robin finds.

* * *

On the second night, Chrom and Robin finds themselves together again, enjoying each other’s company. He maintains Falchion, and Robin reads up on the books borrowed from Askr’s library.

The red glow still lingers on them. It always does. It didn’t matter anymore.

“I wonder if Lucina and Cynthia would like a book from this world.” Robin says, flipping through one more page before lowering it down. The conversation from the night before was raw still. “Shall we bring some back?”

“I don’t see why not.” Chrom stiffens and silently cursed his own reaction.

“In that case, romance, fiction or Askrian folklore?”

Did he look like he loved to read? Chrom contemplates quickly with a finger on his forehead, but he cannot imagine his girls not being overjoyed at the prospect of heroic adventures and tales of damsels in… towers. “How about all of them?”

“All three, then.” Robin returns his nose to the books with a smile. “Hah, imagine the affection they’d shower you with when you hand it over. You will give them the best ones.”

Chrom raises and eyebrow. “Not that it would not send me over the moon, but why me, and not you? It is your gift, Robin.”

“Because I’m a stranger to them and have no children of my own.” Robin replied flatly. “Parenting is another one of my many weaknesses, Chrom.”

“Oh. Well. You’re a familiar face at least, surely.”

Robin shakes his head. “The approach me wearily. It’s probably for the best.”

The crunching on the boots was heard again and Kiran approaches with a bowl of snack.

After awkwardly staring at each other for a while, Kiran breathes in and hands the food over, as quiet as ever.

“What are these?” Robin wondered out loud, scooting over to Chrom, wholly unaware of how the exalt is suddenly very conscious of their distance.

A notebook flips open with an indication.

“‘ _Frequently asked questions… Potato chips.’_ Potato?”

Kiran nods and points further down, bending a little from where they stood. ‘ _Made by chopping potatoes into thin slices, fried in oil, and salted.’_

Robin finds it’s exactly that and lights up. “It’s good!” Robin exclaims.

At that, Chrom eagerly takes one only for the crisp edge to strike against own gums. “Ow!”

“Chrom!”

His other half _panics_ out a flurry of hurfs and hoohs. “Rofin, ih it bleehing? It hurhs, oh Gohds I ho ish’ noh bleehing.”

“No, no it’s not. Your gums are fine, calm down! It's only a pota-”

He is interrupted by Kiran’s laughter.

Laughter completely uncontrolled, and uncontained open laughter at Chrom’s misery.

“Wait- I.” Kiran says between sniffles and tears. “Sorry.”

Chrom shuts his lips and runs his own tongue inside to find no blood. “You’re right. It’s not bleeding.” And he looks up to the person in white, their amusement quickly dissipating. “And you spoke.”

Kirna blinks and adverts their eyes, but nods slowly. Yet before the two knew it, they were beginning to see the Summoner’s mouth gaping multiple times like a fish on land, their oxygen deprived from their lungs.

It was a form of panic attack, and they recognized it.

Robin almost gets up when he notices them blanching.

“Stopped… quarreling?”

Chrom pauses and smooths out his voice into that of a reassuring commander. Much more for their nerves, than his dignity. “If you refer to last night’s incident, we weren’t quarreling. Whatever gave you that idea?”

Kiran points to the shadowy figure off under a tree weakly.

“Oh.” Chrom’s eyes peeled.

“Don’t worry about it.” Robin said. “It’s nothing at all. It won’t affect our performance tomorrow.”

Kiran frowns, tilting their head. There was another attempt to speak, before realizing one of them was going to end up in a utterly unflattering state was going to do anyone any favours. Instead, the notebook was pulled out, and wrote thusly,

_“Grima said you were quarreling but didn’t understand much. I just wanted to make sure if everything was alright, or if there are anything I may do to offer help.”_

Grima.

_“It’s not my place to say this, but I get worried for the two of you. If you wish to return too, let me know. This war is not yours to fight, if you choose so.”_

Robin reads it with a nod, and sends the notebook back.

“You always do question our well-being in a foreign world.” It’s Robin says it, calm as the still waters. “We’ll stay for a while longer, if Askr will host us. I’d like to help you some more.”

“Agreed. The food and the company here is good.” Said Chrom, carefully consuming his chips this time to prove his statement. “When you’re in charge my tactician is finally free from work. Do you know just how unusual a sight that is?”

“And Chrom can be Chrom. Being King isn’t any easier a task either. I'm not envious of his position.”

Chrom sighs. “And I'm not envious of yours, advising my ears off. Meetings, paperwork, diplomacy, appearances all day. I'm lucky to be surrounded by men wiser than I. I've never knew some men from the council are shadier than the worst brigands, ignoring the people’s needs for their own gains! But, er, oh. I suppose this doesn't concern you. Apogloies.”

Robin shakes his head. “You are to keep this between ourselves. He is doing his best.”

Kiran nods with relief at their banter and agrees to the silence. It’s the easiest task entrusted to them.

They spend some time together chatting some more until Kiran eventually signaling that they were off to bed, they waved a goodbye. The lack of speech on the Summoner's part never hindered how they spoke of their time in Ylisse and their comrades back home. Those were good memories, and there will still be plenty more to make.

Making memories; a magic Chrom taught Robin a long time ago, when he first saw the trees turn in autumn and had no prior ones to work with.

Robin stares at the cover of his book for a moment, letting the encounter pass out of his mind.

They’ve both made some good friends here.

* * *

They return to Askr at noon.

Alfonse greets his Summoner with such elation that even Kiran was taken aback. A pat here, a inspection there, and it takes Sharena to pry her brother out of his worrying mode.

It’s Grima that splinters from the group first, the swarm of mortals too much for him to stomach without turning into his rightful form and raining terror down on them.

“Thank you.”

Grima turns around at Aflonse’s voice. Three of them, Chrom, Robin and Kiran all had eyes on him.

Finding nothing but annoyance left in his mind, the Fell Dragon returned to his own room to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> u laffed u lose


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wai.

* * *

The weight of his body sunk into the soft clean sheets.

Kiran was good to him. They watched Grima take up to the skies and let him be. Free, so that his wings stretched and his body soared. Proud, so that his maw welcomed all those insects into purgatory. So without a care, with the mortals under the same banner cleaning up the leftovers that he didn’t even had to bat an eye at his newfound pet.

He was even thanked, for a little act that was borderline a spit on the Prince's face. He could protect Kiran, whereas the Prince could not. And yet, he was thanked.

“So worthless. And yet here, I am free.” He says, face smothering the pillows. The statement is a realization that he hasn’t come to full terms with quite yet, for it would discredit all the freedom he had prior to his arrival.

Bitterness… was already creeping in on the edge of his tongue.

His eyelids fluttered, sleep creeping up on him after having materialized his true form for several hours at a time, for keeping watch on the camp while the Summoner rested.

And even better yet, not once did he had to entertain the notion of facing the edge of Falchion. Kiran made sure none of that ever came close, sending that little army to keep those foul slayers at bay.

_‘It never had to be the way the Grimaleals wanted you to be.’_

What?

_‘You’ve changed.’_

Instead of snarling, he grips the sheets. “You. I have not granted you permission to speak.”

_‘Then throw me into your dungeon. Tighten it. It’s gone weak, Fell Dragon. It has been weak for quite a while, you realize. Unless I’m still in a dream.’_

“A mistake. This _is_ your reality and I shall correct that. This is my body now, forfeiter.”

_‘…You would never forget before.’_

Indeed, Grima never would, but Robin’s feelings were more stable, more quietened and toned down, that it never interfered with his own functions. Somewhere along the line, he simply forgot to reinforce the lock. He hesitates, even as he considers his options.

“When we return, I shall make sure you taste ample despair again around your dearest protectorate. Pity he perished, isn’t it? He is beautiful, as a corpse, as the Plegian king.”

A twang of sadness finally flowed through.

“That’s more like it, pest. Despair is all that you have left, your damnation sweet as nectar. This is our fate, for the rest of eternity, as Gods.”

_‘...Chrom and my bond… are more than tears and regret. You are so close to understanding it.’_

Grima clicks his tongue. He wasn't some rock incapable of forming his own understanding and opinions. He spits back. “You and your drivel about bonds. Even after being a world and death apart, you still believe? He never cared about you before, and he never shall. You were just a convenient, smart little pawn in his eyes. To command his merry band of little sheeps.”

_‘...’_

“Cowards. The both of you, with your bonds and feelings. And now you continue to exist in eternal regret.”

It was noisy when Robin was upset. When he did truly cry, Grima’s eyes spilled tears as well. And his mind became a cacophony of conflicting emotions that was difficult to separate between his and Robin’s.

_‘Why do you not silence me?’_

Never in an eon would Grima admit it was because that he was tired, but he did threw a spike in his direction.

“I shall take you up on your offer.”

‘ _Urk…!’_

Grima shuts his eyes and ignores the tears flowing and the confusion overflowing.

This mortal is so… noisy.

Why did he forget in the first place?

* * *

Robin wanders the hall.

He could blink. He could breathe. He could move.

And it was eerie. Moving about in the day, to not have to face his father and wrestle with a scramble of memories that were already too fractured to make much sense out of it. He wonders if it’s a reality, or another one of his dreams within the prison.

All he could piece together were two consistents: Chrom and Morgan. Their memories were like an anthem, pushing him through further when he could each day even if Chrom was no more. But Morgan. Morgan was not here, and he worried what Validar might do to her in the absence of his presence, even if he remembered little more than her name and blood tie.

Even Grima was alarmingly protective of his daughter, although as a piece to be manipulated. The hierophant’s feelings always did end up being twisted in one way or another, sickening him to his core by the neverending, unbreakable nightmare.

The castle is like a map of his hand, brand and all, that navigation came easy. When there wasn’t much for Grima to do but wander, he’d end up watching like a spectre.

It wasn’t a labyrinth like Plegian’s castle, warped with twists and turns to trick its inhabitants. It’s gotten worse now, with secret dungeons dug so far down beneath its foundation that he wondered if the world had any hope of salvation now that Grima’s wings were spread far and wide.

But he was careless.

A pair of blue eyes spot him, Naga’s brand embedded on one. He has seen it many times before from a distance, too ashamed to do anything about his feelings of jealousy and resentment to come close to speaking with her. Just the touch of her tiny hand warped around his fingers sent him reeling, and he never once come close since.

He gasps as the pieces came flying back from the oblivion that should have robbed him of everything.

It was a lifetime of regret and agony. He cursed his existence then, and he curses it now.

He turns around and flees. Running as quickly as his unfeeling feet would carry him.

Lucina. Chrom’s daughter.

The hero to end it all.

“Huh? Wait! Why are you running?”

His hood was on; he was certain of it. She wouldn’t see his expression. It must not come to pass.

“Robin?!”

He fled, faster than any right he should have. His uneven stance was spurred on by unwillingness to let it end yet, by hope for the Fell Dragon, and pain. Lungs seizing, he huffed what he thought to be pants, but instead turned out to be tears. Rubbing his eyes, he stumbles once and then twice. How can one commit so many mistakes in a single lifetime?

In his panic, he turns a wrong corner, and ends up in a dead end.

Lucina was fast, and her heels stomps to a stop behind him.

Robin pulled the hood further over his face and warped his arms around him.

“Little… wretch,” the insult are as venomous as water, and Lucina felt a drop of it splash against her face. “Leave me be.”

“Oh. Oh Gods.” Lucina swallowed. “It’s really you.”

His fingers were close to tearing his own flesh. It would mend soon after, even if he pulled it out from the joints.

“Whoever it is you think stands before you, I am not him. I am Grima.”

“No, Grima does not flee. I know it’s you, Robin. Tell me, how… how are you here?”

Robin shook his head and redoubled his efforts not to flare up his emotions again. “Grima… is asleep. Safe as it may be, you should leave me be. I am not Robin. Not anymore.”

“Are you…” Lucina stops before shaking her head. “I…” She claps two hands into her face and breathes. “You’ve been in here all along. Now I finally understand what I’ve seen in Plegia.”

Robin wonders between two of them, which was real.

“What did you see?”

“A King of wrong birthright. A man who claimed to be betrayed by his son who abandoned him, whom he claimed he groomed so well. A lass with devotion to Grima, armed with tactics only you would teach. Many things that should not be if the Fell Dragon was all that there was.”

“I… taught… Morgan? I don’t… remember.”  

“Isn’t she your daughter?!” Disbelief slammed his ears. “How can you not remember her?”

Robin laughs somberly. Her reaction was expected. “Validar has destroyed most of my memories. As with Grima, though he does not realize how thorough his wipe was. But I deserve this. It’s my punishment for being born.”

Lucina grips her first.

“I should have stayed my tongue. I apologize.”

“Save your words for someone worthy. Don’t apologize to a monster such as myself.”

Lucina furrows her eyebrows. “But you are not a monster. You were my Father's most beloved friend.”

Robin turns around, trying not to choke on the growing lump in his throat. “Leave me before he awakens, or strike me down where I stand, little one. There is no more fight left in me.”

Lucina doesn’t draw her sword. “...There was only one person who would call me by that nickname. Neither my parents nor the wet nurses admitted to calling me when I was young, yet I recall that name.” She softly says. “All this time… You have been watching over us, all along…?”

The silence he offers was his reply.

“Come with me.” she says to the warm stranger before her with an open palm.

Blankly staring at her palm, Robin’s mind refused to work. It was a far cry from the times the constant adrenaline kept him running from villages to villages, capture after capture. “What for?”

“Come with, if you desire to see Father.” She says.

His mind races with the prospect of seeing Chrom in person. Chrom, who didn’t take the near fatal injury from the assassin, who in another world, could live out the life he deserved.

“Why? I killed him. I could kill him again.”

“You had watched over me as much as Aunt Lissa did from the shadows. You once saved me from falling off a tree and chided my actions, calling me ‘little one’ before disappearing. I now know why your name was a taboo, forbidden to be spoken lest it weakens my resolve. And that you never intended to turn traitor.” Lucina pauses. “You wouldn’t hurt him if you could.”

“You are like him. Like his sister. This must be a dream.”

“Matters home means naught here. This is reality, Robin.”

As with all things, he hadn’t a say in the matter when his hand was dragged along. He hesitated to even wave it, knowing his body’s strength was now multiple times stronger and ever more foreign. “Let me go, little one. I could hurt you.”

The woman does the complete opposite, squeezing it. He feared, and does not reciprocate.

Her determination was unwavering, and for a second Robin felt split.

They came to a bend, and she took the step forward to scout before waving for Robin to stand by the balcony overlooking the main hall. Still in a spell, he looked over to see Chrom, standing beside himself. A otherworld version of himself.

Chrom, who was alive and well. Who promised him a future if he could have lived. A simple future where he could simply exist.

Grima shows no signs of stirring, encouraging Robin to greedily hold onto whatever scant little time he has. His grip on the balcony tightens, and it cracks under his force.

“Ah.” Robin remains blank as he lifts his hand to marvel at the broken, powdered stones.

He was truly a monster. That’s all he is. Tendrils that was now gripping his throat was all he would feel. Yet this change of scenery… isn’t so bad. It would not be allowed to take him. Not yet, when change seems possible.

Chrom, startled, looked towards the odd sound almost drowned out by the sheer sea of people about. The other Robin follows, and a finger points towards him.

Their gazes meet, and Robin turns, his undead heart shuddering. “No. No, no. I’ve been seen. I have to go.”

Lucina twitches into action, shooting off her feet. She beckons to the familiar stranger as she takes the lead. “This way.”

She was fast, her feet like feathered lightning on the ground. But Robin stumbles, completely unused to his body. How strange. It was always his to begin with.

“What is the matter with you?” Lucina questioned out of worry.

“Lost touch with my own body. Go. Perhaps this is something I must face.”

“Face? Then allow me to ask: is that your wish?’

“...No. But it does not matter what I wish. I am not certain what I might accomplish if I…” Robin stares blankly at the dust layering on his own hand. “If I lost myself. I cannot bear to kill him again.”

Lucina’s tone came soft and stern. “If you are still an agent of your own will, then lift your head and move.”

Will? What will? He never had any since the day he was born. Everything boiled down to the illusion of choice. He isn’t so far gone that he couldn’t detect pity from the other. Unlike him, she was a true hero, and Robin hadn’t the courage to lift his head.

Nevertheless, he moved.

And it was then that a white flash entered Lucina’s vision, and her reflex snapped her legs backwards so fast that there was whiplash kicked into the robes in front of her.

Kiran squeaked in shock and nearly released the books they’ve been carrying.

“Out of the way.” Lucina pleaded. “Quickly, please.”

Chrom and the other Robin’s voices echoes down the hallway and right into Robin’s ears.

“They are coming.” Robin commented. “Not far. I cannot outrun them.”

It takes only a split second of judgement, and Kiran hands Lucina their books-

“Summoner, this is hardly the time for-!”

-and begins unclasping their cloak. The white heavy cloth jabs into Robin’s vision almost rudely, one other hand breaking his space to point at his cloak. Their mind was sharper than Robin’s in this situation, even if there was a certain handicap involved.

“Very well.” Robin says, and his beloved cloak comes off. The weight lifts off his hand, and for a moment regrets letting go, before reminding himself he is a dead man since long ago.

Black and white now swapped, Kiran made sure both their hoods were covering their faces. It was the perfect fit, surprisingly. Distinguishing between the two wasn’t impossible, but it was no doubt difficult when distance was a factor.

Kiran mouths one word to Lucina and their head bopped towards its direction.

_Quarters._

“What should I do with these?” Lucina questioned. Askran Mythologies, Legendary Artifacts, and a few other books on societal studies were in her hands, all taken out from the library. What an odd combination.

Kiran waves for them to hurry up and go. The order comes with extra annoyance and little weight, now that they were not on the battlefield and should have no right of command whatsoever.

“I'll drop them in his room.”

The both of them heed the friendly order and headed towards Robin’s - Girma’s room.

“They’ve left.” Robin says after the footsteps are gone, sent to the other side of the castle on a chase.

“It was luck we ran into to each other, but I can never tell what the Summoner is thinking.” Lucina grimaced. “Being kept in the dark leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”

“My being here causes discomfort for you.” Robin points out. “There is no need to hide it, Lucina.”

Lucina grabs her own arms. “I… Don’t say that. We can finally speak.”

“You would strike down Grima if given the chance, I know this. But he's no longer the same Fell Dragon whom first arrived here. I can feel his calm, his anger, his worries. Even if he does not fully grasp the meaning of each on his own.”

“He would ruin this world eventually under the right conditions. Yet I cannot strike either of you down, and not when he seems so content just being around. There is no deception behind the peace. It’s unsettling.”

Robin nods blankly, the hallways beginning rolling past him like an after image. The blue form of the woman in front of him seems to shift and melt. If there were a few heroes who he had passed by and given him a wave, they were more than likely shadows.

Then he feels it. The first prickle of consciousness that was still far from stirring, but it was certain he had run out of time. Grima’s influence was beginning to take over again.

“Lucina. I’m running out of time.” He warns, but his lips could barely be felt.

She watches Robin whose eyes were glazed over and came to a conclusion. “I understand.”

He gets to his… well, Grima’s room and approaches the door, fiddling with the knob. His motions are delayed by miles off.

“Here.” The door opens in a delayed sequence. “I’m leaving the Summoner’s books on this table, Robin.” Lucina stacks them up neatly in a pile.

It’s the same table that Kiran and Grima often spent time sitting together, often with Kiran listening on drivels of death and destruction. It would have ended rather badly if they were someone Robin knew. But he did not know the Summoner. And Grima had the free reign to build his opinion of that individual without his emotional influence on the scale.

Robin nods slowly, and finds himself on the bed.

Lucina paced a few steps around, scouting the alarmingly clean and normal room. He didn’t mind, really, it wasn’t his place to begin with.

“Sterile.” She comments, placing a hand at the top of an empty bookshelf. “There is hardly anything here.”

She is right. He would gladly fill up his room with books in a heartbeat.

The Fell Dragon stirs, and he considers just laying his head down and letting matters takes it course. “Grima might wake up at any moment. You must… go. He won’t like what I’ve did.”

“Will we speak again?”

Robin presses his lips together, and shakes his head. “Please leave. And be well.”

Lucina opens the door out of compliance for the person who had once watched over her. “I am glad to have spoken with you.“

“...May you find happiness, Lucina.”

She returns to the other side. The side of the living and real beyond the door.

Robin wonders how much longer it would be until he loses his identity completely, assimilating into the Fell Dragon. It was a mystery no books he read could ever answer.

* * *

Alright. This is where both men drew the goddamn line.

Lissa’s love for pranks often causes Chrom to chase her down with giggles and taunting each other back and forth. She is his dearest little sister, and as big brothers oft do, he adored her in his way of putting up with her antics. ...As much as he hates some of the pranks. A soft slime-y frog was terrifying when the skin feels it before the brain identifies what it was.

And Robin likewise, was expecting to come up to a Grima who had potentially come back to the castle with a sudden change of heart to perhaps plot out the destruction on the worlds. Afterall, the way the profile that loomed over them suddenly took off with a handful of stone destroyed at the railing must have indicated some degree of rage. Rage that could potentially spell out a second coming of what he had to endure.

So why is it, in a world so far away, that Grima was honest to god…

_Skipping?_

“Why is he skipping?!” He yells. “Away, from us?!”

The clopping of heels on the ground was so loud that it seemed like Grima was _messing_ with them.

Wait.

“Kiran, it’s you, isn’t it?!” Robin yelled.

On cue, the skipping stops, and not-Grima turns around with what can be only be called a dirt eating grin clasped firmly on their face for the world to see.

Both men sigh in their own way, covering their foreheads. “Well played.” Chrom applauds.

“I should have known it was you. How did you even manage to swap clothes with your head still attached to your shoulders?” Robin questioned. “I shudder to think but, did he simply allowed it?’

Kiran contemplates a bit before nodding with that assumption.

“P-p… Mmm…”

“You were playing.”

Kiran nods at Robin’s conjecture.

“I truly can no longer tell if you’re absolutely brilliant or completely insane.”

Kiran tilts their head upwards and sighs and brings both hands up with a pinch. A little bit of both, perhaps. Then the gap widens. _A lot of both._

“Say, Robin? What do you say to staying to help Askr’s war efforts and its eventual conclusion?. I’ve suddenly lost all confidence in this kingdom and its’ continued survival.”

By ‘we’, Chrom meant him. And Robin was wondering if he really should. He sighs.

Kiran takes the joke well and takes out their notebook. Their pencil moved after a heavy pause.

_“Dragons and magic don’t exist in my world. I have to be a lot of both to be here.”_

“Non-existent? How can men come into being without the blessings of Gods and defend themselves without the aid of magic?” Robin wonders. “Every world the other heroes spoke of have all been quite similar to ours…”

“Alfonse spoke of airplanes in Kiran's world, machinery grand enough to carry nearly half a thousand men over the air. It's unheard of.”

“What? That has to be the size of... the size of an entire town! And I cannot imagine a world without magic. It would mean for a world to be devoid of mana and quintessence... ”

Chrom gives him a nudge and squints in Kiran's direction.

Robin’s observes how Kiran’s shoulders slump ever so slightly with defeat, as if they’d seen his disbelief from miles away.

“O-oh. Forgive us. It was not our intention to call you a liar. It’s simply rather… unfathomable.”

Kiran shook their head and brings the notebook to their mouth with no offence taken.

“I suppose this is why you don't talk…?”

Kiran nods with every fibre of their being projecting a very confident body language, betrayed only by the fingers worrying their sleeves. Sleeves that were not theirs’. Armor that was not theirs.

“This cloak is a poor choice,” Chrom said, his tone is slightly low, and uncharastically aggressive. “White is a far better pick. It is not yours.”

Kiran blinks under the scrutiny before shifting to hide behind Robin, mumbling something only the two tactician could hear. Now that it’s within earshot, Kiran’s voice sounded perfectly normal.

“...Possessive.”

“Surely not.”

Robin would have flushed if not for Chrom’s upset mood. It was a word he’d almost spoken out loud the other day himself, afterall. The ramifications of this conclusion? Dangerous.

“White’s… better.” Kiran pushes the words out with such difficulty that they felt mildly lightheaded.

“Oh, er. Yes…” Chrom scratched the back of head. “It’s just- That belongs to Robin. I’m sure even Grima would want it back, seeing that he never outfits anything else. It’s important to him, you understand.”

Kiran nods with a smile. Gracefully and warmly.

Robin wonders if Kiran is simply more comfortable speaking to him. Grima and he did technically share the same face, after all. Yes, it was most likely that. While he was now slightly more acceptive of Grima’s presence, he was not entirely alright having his identity crossed with the other.

Unlike Chrom, Robin saw the reasoning and could stay level headed.

Tucking their book they pointed to their destination, opposite and rather far off, Kiran figured it was time to go. A slight turn of their feet told the two men had hardly reason to accompany them down to Grima’s side.

“Oh? Alright, be… careful. Would you like us to accompany with?”

Kiran shakes their head and fishes out Breidablik.

How fearless. The insurance would be a messy one, but that’s what Robin, Chrom and Lucina were here for.

A bow later, they were gone.

“Chrom-”

“I know, Robin, I know. It’s just… I didn’t mean to-. Gods. Sorry. I’m sorry, Robin. But I don’t think I can-” Chrom breathes in hard through clasped hands, drawing air and silence. “Damn it!”

“Chrom?” The shorter man was suddenly getting worried. He had never seen Chrom like this.

“5 years. Half a decade, Robin. I had been holding onto your cloak for all that time, clinging onto the hope that you will be back. It is dear to you, and your only connection to what identity you had. I wouldn’t let anyone touch it freely, not even Frederick. It- It enraged me. It was the only memento of you I had left.”

Robin moved a hand over Chrom’s own, returning the grip. “I have given you nothing but trouble, haven’t I?”

“You are the best thing to happen to me.” The exalt’s eyes shone true.

“Don’t say that as if it is true, silly. I am really not. We will return eventually, and I will be in your service. As promised, until my face wrinkles. The best thing for you, is Sumia and your children.”

“If.” Chrom bites his lips. “If, I ask, we were to suddenly return, would you support my decision?”

Robin takes a step back. “What? O-of course. Your promise to me goes both ways.”

“And if I were to declare the true status of my situation with Sumia, would you see me as any lesser of a person?”

“...What?” Robin felt the ground shift beneath him. “I don’t understand.”

Chrom has never, in Robin’s memory, worn such a pained expression.

“We…”

* * *

Kiran waits for Grima to stir, nose deep into their books searching for a lost nugget of treasure.

When he does, he groans at the white figure who has caught him in such a vulnerable state that he would nearly lop their head off, if not for the fact that it was Kiran. It was a little late outside now.

Grima loathed the idea of resting. It was such a mortal thing to do. Curse his frail body. If only it was stronger to contain his full power, he wouldn’t need it.

The back of his mind hung a presence now so adept at hiding his own emotions. He leaves it be. It wouldn’t matter if that soul was watching or not.

And then- he catches a whiff. Bringing up his arm over his nose, he sniffs.

“Summoner. Why do I smell of you?”

Kiran lifts their head up, a small curl of a nervous smile in place.

“Didn’t drink!”

He growls a sigh. “It does not reek. What did you do?”

“Making sure you were ok.”

The admittance comes like a kiss from a firefly. Grrima scoffs, detecting no lie. “Fool.”

Kiran stops and turns their full attention towards the Fell Dragon. “I’ll be… paraded. Tomorrow. As the people’s great saviour. So I’ll be… busy.”

Pity. He was looking forward falling back into their usual routine.

“You don’t sound eager.”

“...They will dress me up and mount pressure on what I must do. It scares me.” Kiran admits. "I don't know or care too much for the people here."

Grima laughs at the brutal honestly. 

“Then bask in the attention as the insects wiggle about you. Think of the myriad of methods you could destroy them, and soak in all the praises of your power. Parades are a bore of an event, hardly a ceremony to remember.”

Kiran’s jaw hung open, awe abudant at the advice. Where was the belitting they expected?

“I’ve been on several worthless ones. You’d find it an annoyance after a few despite your... fears. Perhaps you shall even forget your initial trepidation soon enough.”

Kiran nodded. “Not a big deal?”

“Not a big deal.” Grima promised. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i write 4 myself and seem to be overly indulgent im sorry lol
> 
> fic will likely end in another couple of chapters. \o/


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